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

by D. K. Holmberg

  “Where are we going?” she asked. “I can follow, but it would help if I knew what you wanted from me.”

  The lizard circled around her and then sat, looking up at her with its deep, wide eyes.

  “Fine.” She hadn’t really expected the lizard to answer, but there was a part of her that wondered if it might not be possible for the lizard to speak to her. The strange hissing when it had helped the draasin had almost seemed to call to her.

  She took another drink, letting the water spill down her cheeks, and even took a moment to wipe her face. She dipped her shaisa into the pool and tied it around her neck. Strange to think that she was stranded in the desert, searching for a way to help the village, and had found enough water to last for weeks, but now she had it all to herself. There was more water than she’d ever imagined, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t thirst.

  And she was alone.

  Not quite alone. The lizard kept her company, and Ciara believed that it would stay with her, not abandon her to the desert. Eventually they would reach whatever it was the lizard intended her to see, and then?

  Then she would have to figure out exactly what the lizard wanted from her.

  She waited, expecting it to nudge her and lead her someone else, but it never did. Ciara knelt by the pool, running her fingers through the cool liquid, thinking how nice it was to not struggle for something so basic, focusing on the depths of the water, staring into blue deeper than almost any she had ever seen. If she stared deep enough, if she listened hard enough, she thought she might even be able to reach to the heart of the Stormbringer.

  The Stormbringer was with her people at all times. They were dependent on his mercy, on another spate of storms, enough to leave pools of water that the nya’shin would collect. All prayed to him, begging for the violent and deadly storms that Rens was known for, knowing that life bloomed within the violence, or so the Stormcallers always said, and who could deny the change in the desert following the rains?

  It was in the depths of those storms that the people of Rens felt closest to him, feeling the raw and unmistakable power that he cast down. Were he to choose, they could have all the water they needed, enough to no longer suffer, enough for the village to truly settle, find a place to call home, more than the rocks they had clung to for years. Instead, the Stormbringer gave hints of what could be. Rare flashes of rain were followed by the pools of water, but they were nothing compared to the great storms.

  Ciara could count on one hand the great storms she’d experienced in her life. There were other storms, but none came with the same explosive energy or the same lasting effects. The great storms raged for days, sometimes weeks, and brought with them riches of water so that the people had all that they wanted, a taste of what waited for them after this life.

  As she trained to be nya’shin, she sat within the storms, each time hoping for a great storm, as they were the time when the Stormbringer was closest to them.

  Sitting and staring into the pool left her feeling as close as she ever had.

  She swirled her finger through the water again, reaching with water, straining for the connection. Could she sense the Stormbringer were she to focus hard enough?

  What she did sense was different, a change that hadn’t been there before.

  She lifted her head. The lizard was gone. It had been there only a moment before, she was certain, but how long had she been staring into the depths of the pool, thinking about the connection to the Stormbringer?

  Night had settled in full, and with it came the familiar chill wind that gusted across all of Rens, across the waste.

  Ciara got to her knees and focused on the connection to water. At first, she wasn’t sure what she detected, but as she concentrated, she realized what it was.

  The steady, rhythmic sound of a pulse.

  She lifted her j’na from its resting spot next to the pool and searched for the lizard. It had brought her here, and it had been the reason she remained, but now it was gone when she most needed to know why it had drawn her this far across Rens.

  Whoever came moved quickly and steadily. It was faster than she could run. Another moment or two and they would be here.

  Still there was no sign of the lizard.

  Ciara readied her spear, lifting it to her shoulder. She might be alone out here in the desert, but she was not helpless.

  Wind gusted around her, pressing against her face. Ciara shifted her veil to cover her mouth but still tasted a strange energy on the wind.

  Then the wind died.

  A thin man shrouded in shadows jumped to the ground and crossed his arms over his chest, seemingly unsurprised to see her. Dark hair at his temples reminded her of her father in some ways, but his sharp nose and angular chin were like no one in Rens.

  “Well then,” he said in a slightly accented voice as he walked past her, stopping at the pool and cupping his hands into it. He took a long drink, ignoring her presence for the moments that it took him to drink all that he wanted. When he stood, he faced her, and a tight smile curved his lips. “You’ve finally made it.”

  Ciara kept her j’na on her shoulder, ready to launch at the man. He faced her casually and had made no effort move, but if he controlled the wind, he might control other elements. “Made it where?”

  She used water to listen for his heart and heard nothing, yet his serene expression told her that this was a man unconcerned with finding her here and seemingly comfortable in his ability to keep her j’na from harming him. Given what she’d heard of shapers of Ter—if that was where he came from—he had nothing to fear from her.

  “You are shin,” he said, the accent to his voice twisting the word so that it came out all wrong, but the fact that he knew even some of her language was enough to almost lose focus. “You have the spear,” he said, pointing toward her j’na, “though the tip is different than any I’ve ever seen before. Not osidan,” he went on, his eyes narrowing and his lips pursed. “It almost appears as if you made it from glass.” His smile widened. “Of course you would. Draasin glass. That would be most effective, I would think. Hard enough not to break and sharp enough to take an edge.” He stepped closer and eyed her spear, then reached toward it. Ciara jerked it away and jabbed toward him. “Yes. I think you will need to find a different way to lash them together. Osidan takes to the wood, molding around it, but draasin glass… That takes something else, I think. A different touch.”

  Ciara wasn’t sure what to make of this man. He seemed to know about her people, and about the j’na, but his dress and sword made him a man of Ter. The enemy of her people. All Ter wanted was death, both for her people and for Rens.

  “Why shouldn’t I spill your blood here?” Ciara asked.

  “You think that you could? And in this place?” the man asked.

  Ciara’s gaze skipped past him for a moment before darting back to his face. He hadn’t moved and made no effort to attack. Water told her that he didn’t use any shaping, but then, she wasn’t sure she would know for certain if he did. What did she know about the power used by Ter?

  “You don’t know about this place, do you?” he asked slowly. The man turned away and circled slowly around the pool of water. He studied the ground as he made a loop before stopping in front of her. “After all the time I’ve spent trying to reach you.”

  He turned his head to the side, surveying the ground. “Which one brought you here? Not the draasin, or I’d know. Not many use this place in these lands.”

  “Many what? Do you mean the lizards?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, and then he barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Sneaky bastard. Figures it would be nobelas. That the reason the speared draasin still lives?”

  Ciara nearly dropped the spear. “Who are you?”

  The man shook his head and stepped away from her. As he did, darkness and shadow seemed to swallow him.

  27

  Jasn

  The elementals can heal man, but is the opposite true?


  —Lren Atunal, Cardinal of the College of Scholars

  Jasn approached the barracks late that night. A gentle rain fell, dripping through the trees, falling off the leaves and dropping onto his head. He made no effort to wipe away the drops falling on him and didn’t bother to pull up the hood of his cloak.

  The cool bite to the air held the earthy scent of the rain. Since coming here, rain had been infrequent, fewer than the storms found in Atenas. At least those offered the opportunity to learn and study, and for someone inclined toward water as he was, the storms were refreshing in many ways. He hadn’t been aware of how much he’d missed the rain before now.

  The camp was quiet as he neared, with none of the normal activity he was accustomed to hearing. Jasn expected the sounds of celebration from Calan’s return, or perhaps the conversation around the fire that was so frequent at night, but there was none of that. The forest around the barracks was silent.

  Had something happened since he’d left?

  It had taken him longer to return than he would have liked. He didn’t have the ability to simply shape himself back to the barracks, being unable to find it the same way a shaper like Alena managed. Whereas he could simply shape himself to Atenas, or Fels, or even Masul, the masking that prevented him from easily seeing the barracks also prevented him from easily returning. He’d been forced to travel to Masul, finding a strange irony that he came back to the same town where he’d been attacked, and from there, he’d walked through the forest.

  The time had given him a chance to clear his head. In the time since leaving Rens, he realized he should have simply ended the draasin. Young or not, the creature would one day be deadly enough to kill, and Jasn shouldn’t have given it the opportunity to reach that point.

  The other decision he’d reached was what he would tell Lachen. The commander needed to know what was happening with the barracks, especially if there was something he could do anything about. The entire purpose of the barracks was to hunt, and if some of those who stayed here chose not to hunt, then Lachen needed to know.

  Did he even know what the scholars used the barracks for? Did he care that the scholars seemed to side with Rens?

  He would need to care.

  Jasn topped a rise and sensed a void below him. The pen, and the other away from the camp. He had started to turn from it when he sensed a flaring heat and thought he heard the distant sound of the draasin, like a call for help.

  He shouldn’t hear anything through the stone pen, shielded as it was from the rest of the forest.

  He needed to return to the camp, but something pushed him down the hill, away from the barracks. Curiosity, or maybe a feeling, or maybe even the guiding hand of the Creator, forcing him toward the draasin. Jasn had never been a religious man, and less so since learning of Katya, but he felt compelled in a way he couldn’t explain.

  Near the edge of the trees, he stopped. An energy radiated away from the clearing and he could see nothing but darkness at the center. Was the pen no longer here? Or had he imagined the sense that drove him here? When he’d found this place before, Alena had dragged him away, annoyed that he had found it. What would she do if she found him here again? And how would he respond?

  Stepping forward, a steady energy slipped over his skin.

  And then a flash of light.

  Flames that hadn’t been visible outside the clearing roared around him. A draasin, all black scales and spikes, stood chained in the middle of the clearing, heavy stone binding him at the wings and holding him to the ground. The chain binding his snout was missing, leaving him free to spew fire. He threw his head from side to side, thrashing wildly.

  It took Jasn a moment to realize why.

  Thenas stood near one of the draasin’s wings. He held his broadsword overhand and hacked down, shredding the creature’s thin wing using a powerful shaping that combined each of the elements. With each sweep of the sword, he let out a victorious scream.

  The draasin roared as well, thrashing as he attacked.

  Jasn stood frozen for a moment.

  He understood what motivated Thenas. The man had been badly injured by one of the draasin, and in a way that Jasn might never understand. Had Jasn not healed him, it was possible Thenas wouldn’t have survived.

  There was a wild anger in him that flared with each violent strike.

  Was that what he had been like while in Rens? Was that what he had become?

  Thenas lifted his sword again, this time almost to the base of the wing. One more swipe and he’d sever it.

  Jasn leapt forward on earth and water, unsheathing in a flash, and caught Thenas’s sword as it crashed down.

  The draasin whipped his head around, and for a moment, Jasn feared the animal might attack him in anger for what Thenas had done.

  “What are you doing?” Jasn asked, pushing Thenas back with as much strength as he could draw. Pulling on an earth shaping, he forced Thenas back, driving him away from the draasin and trying to put some space between of them.

  “Back away, Volth. This isn’t your concern.” Thenas shaped earth and wind and tried to push past, but Jasn deflected the shaping and swung his sword around, sending Thenas dancing back a step.

  “No? I was the one who healed you. That makes your safety my concern.”

  Thenas hesitated. “I’ll thank you later. I need this. Calan saw what happened to me. He’ll never pass me on after what happened, but if I can return with a prize, a talon, some proof that I can hunt—”

  “This isn’t hunting,” Jasn said. “This creature is trapped. It can’t fight back. Hunting is…” Jasn wasn’t sure how to describe what hunting of the draasin would be, but it wasn’t this. “Stop this before Alena finds out.”

  Thenas lifted his sword, holding it away from his body in a ready stance. “Alena. Calan knows that she refuses to kill them. You think the commander doesn’t know? And if they’re both in on it, the Council will find out.”

  “The commander doesn’t know anything about Alena.”

  “Maybe it’s time that he does.” Thenas took a single step back, motioning with his sword. “And you. What are you doing here? Did she send you to check on her pets?”

  Jasn laughed and shook his head. “She doesn’t trust me enough for something like that.” And he didn’t trust her, either. Whatever else, he didn’t know what motivated Alena. Maybe nothing but a desire to help Ter, but from what he’d seen, that wasn’t clear.

  “Why stop me, then?”

  Jasn chanced a look at the draasin. He strained against the chains but couldn’t do anything. Every so often, he spewed a streamer of flame from his nostrils, but the flame sputtered and was weaker with each time. The heat radiating from it began to die off, fading as the effect of Thenas’s attack took hold. Even stopping Thenas wouldn’t necessarily prevent the draasin from dying, not at this point.

  “Because I can see this isn’t right.”

  Thenas pursed his lips and swung his sword, whistling it through the air. “And you know what’s right?”

  “Not for a long time I didn’t, but I think I’m beginning to understand.”

  Thenas glanced from Jasn to the draasin. For a moment, Jasn thought Thenas might simply give up and disappear, but a grim determination spread across his face. “Then your death falls on you.”

  Thenas attacked.

  Before leaving for Rens, Jasn had worked with some of the best swordmasters in Atenas. All warriors in training learned to use the sword, and some picked up the lessons better than others. Jasn considered himself proficient. Skilled enough not to die quickly if it were to come down to him and his sword, but not as skilled as those who studied at the sword daily. Thenas would have given any of the masters in Atenas a challenge.

  It wasn’t only his ability with the sword. That was impressive enough. It was the shapings that accompanied the attack. Jasn was only beginning to understand how little he knew about shaping. Learning in Atenas, he’d thought he was skilled, and his time in Rens had
made him a strong shaper, but coming to the barracks and studying had taught him that there were differences between strength and skill, sometimes so profound that it was hard to even imagine they were doing the same thing. And Thenas had studied here for years and was nearly a fully trained instructor. His ability with shaping far outstripped what Jasn could accomplish.

  Thenas knew it too.

  He held nothing back, darting from stance to stance, swinging his sword with incredible precision. Jasn just barely managed to hold on, blocking as he could, healing himself as needed when Thenas’s sword caught him, but he couldn’t keep it up. Doing so forced him to split too much of his focus, driving him to pay more attention to keeping himself alive rather than stopping Thenas.

  With a quick flick of his wrist, he caught Thenas’s sword. Warrior swords were forged out of hardened steel, made by the finest smiths in Ter. Thenas’s sword snapped when it struck Jasn’s, one piece flying away from the clearing.

  Thenas frowned and flipped the remains of his sword away, then quickly grabbed a pair of long knives at his waist. He swung these with even more control than he had his sword, parrying Jasn’s less focused movements.

  Then Thenas slipped past his guard and stabbed his shoulder. Jasn cried out and dropped his sword, throwing himself to the side to prevent any further attack. Already, the flesh began to mend.

  “You should have left this alone,” Thenas said, grabbing Jasn’s sword and turning his focus back to the draasin, ignoring Jasn.

  He staggered, feeling dizzy. How much strength had he wasted shaping healings during the attack? He’d lost track of how many times Thenas had cut him, but the tattered remains of his cloak told him it was more than a dozen. Any one of which could have ended him.

  Blood poured out from the latest cut. Jasn pressed his hand against the wound and let the rain drip into his palm, part of him amused that he would die here in the barracks at the hand of another warrior.