Age of Asango - Book II

by Matt Russell

  Livia gasped. Simius glared back at her, watching her tremble against her desk, and then he turned to the soldier again. "I would like you not to reveal what I just commanded you to do to anyone." He walked over to the man, who was cowering a little despite the fact that he was significantly larger than Simius. "So long as the girl stays here and doesn't give you any trouble, you will not give an explanation as to why you hung about outside this shop. If your tongue slips on this subject, I'll cut it out of your throat. Is that clear?"

  "Y-yes, sir," the guard managed to rasp.

  Simius turned back to Livia. Without another word, he spun and headed out the door and into the streets, leaving Livia with the guard, who stood gaping at her, nearly as bewildered as she was.

  Livia just breathed for a long moment, trying to slow the wild jitter of her heart. All of this was happening! Her life, as well as Hervin's life, could come to an end at the slightest misstep—no, that was an underestimation! Her life was likely forfeit already. She gazed down to the floorboard. The map to Iona—Gods, she had come so close!

  Livia clenched her fists. There was no room for self-doubt—nothing in the world to do but grit her teeth and try. She had to figure out what was going on. What in the world did 'Elyria' mean?

  Chapter 32:

  A Twisting of Destiny

  Kota breathed in the slow rhythm Gretis had taught him, feeling his spiritual energy swirl within his body. He sat upon a flat stone section that was warm from the sun, his eyes shut. Meditation was easiest atop a mountain like this, where his animus sense was not disturbed by the endless chaos of the ever-changing world. Kota had a pristine mental image of a few insects crawling about and the occasional bird gliding by, but for the most part there was only the gentle wind and the solid rock that had remained much as it was for countless thousands of years and would continue to do so long after he passed into the next life.

  His wounds were nearly mended. For three days he had sat in this same pose, surrendering his mind and body to the animus within him, and in that time, it had burned away the corruptive energies left behind by the demonic weapons. The beast wanted him healed and strong, for, he sensed through a deep instinct he barely understood, it was preparing his flesh to battle an even greater threat in the days to come.

  Kota's senses tickled, and then his mind locked on Gretis, who was traversing the rocky path up to him. The energy flowing inside of her familiar animus felt wild and alive. He observed in silence as she drew nearer and nearer, and then he caught the scent of freshly cooked meat in the air.

  "Are you hungry yet?" she said from a dozen steps behind.

  "A little," he answered without opening his eyes. "Not much really. My animus seems to have... slowed everything down inside my body."

  Gretis paused at this, and he felt a series of pulses from her energy reach out to his chest and then return to her. "Your heart is beating so slow you should be dead," she said, her voice carrying a measure of concern that was overshadowed by what seemed to be fascination.

  "It is a little strange," he whispered. "There are times when I go perhaps a quarter of an hour without taking a breath—maybe longer."

  "I… think you should eat," she said after a moment.

  "As you wish," Kota said, and he opened his eyes. His animus shift shifted inside of him, accelerating his bodily functions to their normal state. As he rose, he noticed that the shoulder that had been pierced by a demon's arrow now hurt little more than a light bruise. His leg was a touch worse, for the gash in it had been quite deep, and yet, hour after hour, he had felt the animus pushing through the demonic corruption and knitting the muscle fiber and other tissue back together. He could probably run on it now.

  "How is the tribe?" Kota said.

  "Still asking questions," Gretis said, "Many, many questions."

  Kota grinned as he reached out and took the plate of steaming food from her, which he noted held pheasant speckled with a pinch of salt and some of Gretis's wonderfully sharp red pepper. "I'm sure you've been frustrating them with vague and confusing answers."

  "Of course," she said in a mirthful tone. "I am sworn to keep the mysteries of the Sansrit path secret, as are you."

  Kota sighed mid-chew into his meat. He was not certain how he felt about the secrecy of his art, now that demons were encroaching back into mortal lands. The 'oath' that he had taken was essentially to his past self, Nataka, the founder of Sansrit Philosophy. Only... he was not truly that man—at least if he accepted Gretis’s teachings on the division between soul, mind, and animus. Many hours of meditation atop the mountain had been dedicated to the question of whether he essentially was Nataka reborn or something else. If the former, might that not grant him the right to decide for himself what was right? Now that demons were returning, surely the ancient knowledge should be restored to the world and his people. Then again, Nataka was a legendary figure that had lived for hundreds of years before constructing the edicts of Sansrit Philosophy. If Kota had only inherited the power and not the ancient chieftain's wisdom, then what right did he have to override thousands of years of tradition laid out by the greatest man in his people's history?

  "Decisions," Gretis whispered.

  He cast her a little smile of respect, acknowledging her prowess at guessing his thoughts. After swallowing his food, he said: "I will keep to my oath at least for the time being."

  "Until what?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "What is your threshold?"

  "I don't know."

  Gretis looked at him for a moment and then said: "A fine enough answer, I suppose. I make no claim to know the correct path at this point myself. I can tell you that such choices are not to be made lightly, but you already know this." She grinned suddenly and reached out and touched the side of his face. "You're not my student anymore, are you? It is no longer my place to tell you what to do."

  Kota swallowed. "If you had not been here, I would have died in the battle, and even if I lived, my tribe would surely all be dead."

  Gretis smirked. "Yes, I am not altogether useless just yet." Her expression grew more somber as she added: "But you are the warrior of prophecy—the one we of the Sansrit have been awaiting for over twenty centuries. Gods, Kota, you defeated an Archdemon in single combat! I wonder if even your friend Cassian could have done that." He noted a change in her face—in the tone of voice and pace of her heart as she spoke this last sentence. "I think... the time has come for the two of us to have a talk about him—Asango."

  "Cassian?" Kota said, staring at Gretis. Her skin had gone just a touch pale.

  "The... prophecy that allowed me to recognize you for what you are," she said, speaking slowly, "it also speaks of him."

  "What?" Kota said, blinking at her. "How? Starborn didn't exist when those words were written."

  "No, but the Norn did, and the description she gave could be nothing other than a Starborn human." Gretis drew in a slow breath, gazing down at the mountain face beneath them both. Kota had rarely ever seen her so nervous. "Your friend Cassian has... the potential to become the greatest evil this world has ever seen—something vastly more terrible even than the Demon King himself." She paused, giving him time to digest these words.

  Kota's mind flashed to the moment seven years ago when the fascinating human boy had bowed to him in the forest. They had only met the one time, but those few days, hunting a nathret to a dead elven city, were deeply ingrained in Kota's memory. They changed who he was and set him on the course to Gretis and his destiny. Cassian had saved Kota's life—saved all of their lives—after knowingly walking into a deathtrap to rescue a handful of peasant children. It was chilling to think that the noble Starborn he remembered could ever become a force of evil.

  "Has the potential?" Kota finally said, fixing his eyes on Gretis's. "Does that mean this may not come to pass?"

  "Perhaps," Gretis said in a somber whisper. "The wording is
not entirely clear, and the prophecy was transcribed in a dialect of Dhavic far older than even the scholars study, but several things are clear, Kota. The first is that your fate and his are intrinsically interwoven. A moment will come when you will have to—"

  Kota suddenly lost track of what Gretis was saying as his animus locked on to something foul. A split second later his nostrils caught a putrid, death-ridden scent in the air. He rose, scarcely conscious of drawing his sword from his belt as the attacker descended from behind. Kota spun, whipping his blade into the path of a black sword aimed at his right shoulder. The demon—a black and oily bat-like thing—let loose a metallic shriek as it flapped its great wings and dodged toward the sky. Kota was faster though, his legs catapulting him upward. He caught one of the monster’s thin, rat-like ankles in his left hand and yanked while his other limb guided his sword to its mark. The demon had dark leather armor and ring mail over its torso, but Kota's blade sliced through it with ease, cleaving the bone and sinew and splitting the hellish creature in half at the waist.

  Kota fell with the corpse, and by the time his feet touched down on the mountaintop, he was himself again. His heart was beating hard, and he was suddenly aware of the spatter of black blood all over his chest, which somehow felt warm and ice-cold at the same time. Gretis had her sword out and was glaring around at the sky, searching for more enemies. Kota followed her example, but when he looked up, he saw only a handful of clouds drifting under the sun. Where the hell had the creature come from?

  "Remarkable," a deep, oaky voice said from almost directly behind the two of them. Kota whirled, utterly astonished that someone could sneak so close, and saw an elderly man with a thick beard of gray-speckled black—a man that somehow did not seem to exist to Kota's animus sense. He wore fine, dark robes, and there was a thick silver chain that hung around his neck that housed a brilliant green jewel. His wizened eyes were not focused on Kota but staring down at the upper half of the demon, which lay face down in a mess of its own blood. "Your instincts—your reflexes, speed, and power are awe-inspiring, my boy." The man looked up and cast him a grin.

  "Who are you?" Gretis said, tilting her sword toward the old man.

  "Tacitus Adronicus, Starborn of the Eighteenth Generation, and of course, current Emperor of the Denigoth Empire," he said, meeting her gaze with a relaxed expression. He took a step toward them both, and Kota's animus sense felt—he could not conceptualize what he felt. The power showed itself only for an instant, but it utterly dwarfed anything he had ever perceived before, including even the Archdemon he had faced. "You are a remarkable young man, Kota," the Emperor said. His tone was cordial, yet there was a coldness to it.

  "Emperor Tacitus," Kota said, finding his voice, and he dropped to one knee and lowered his head in respect. Gretis did not though. She stood staring at the old man, and from the furious beat of her heart and the constriction of her muscles, Kota realized that she was afraid. He looked up at her and saw that her face had gone several shades paler.

  "You've done an excellent job of tucking him away this last year," Tacitus said, eyeing Gretis. He took another step toward them both, and it almost seemed to Kota's senses that the world itself shifted. The Emperor moved with his hands folded behind his back, hunching just a little forward, like a feeble old man. He sighed and squinted up at the clouds as he said: "I've had a hell of a time finding you two."

  Gretis stuttered: "Y-you're—"

  "Yes, I am," Tacitus said, shifting his gaze back to her, all the humor draining from his face. "I am... very sorry, my dear. Please know that I hold you in the very deepest respect," his glance shifted to Kota, "both of you."

  Gretis turned to Kota, a look of horror on her face as she shouted: "RUN!"

  "There is no running," Tacitus said, his hand snapping up, and suddenly Kota felt an incomprehensible force wrap around his body, enveloping every part of him. He was yanked to a standing position before the Emperor, and though his animus filled his body with all its strength and willed him to move, it was useless. Gretis stood next to him in a rigid pose, her arms locked to her sides as if they too were being squeezed.

  "I want you to know that I will not kill him," Tacitus said, looking at Gretis and gesturing to Kota. "I have a use for him actually."

  "Y-you b-bastard!" Gretis managed to hiss through her teeth. Her face had gone quite red.

  This elicited a chuckle from the Emperor. "So simple it all must seem to you," he said. "All the moral clarity you must have felt, hidden away for so many years in your little home in the woods. You have no conception at all of what it is like to bear the responsibility of the largest empire in history on your shoulders." Tacitus shook his head. "I rule over very nearly the entire human race. Can you even imagine the scope of such a burden?" He let out a gruff sigh. "I have no wish to hurt either of you, but there is far more at stake than the lives of two Sansrit masters.”

  "Let Kota go!" Gretis managed to snarl. "Please! I am the only one who has read the prophecy!"

  The muscles in The Emperor's jaw contracted as if he was hesitating, and then he said in a grim voice: "I cannot allow even the chance that he fulfill his destiny. Your student shall have to come with me. You, however," he whispered, a sorrowful look crossing his face, "I need something for the Onkai to find, so that poor Bishop Otho will stop searching for the two of you. His attention will be needed elsewhere very soon." The Emperor stared at Gretis with any icy expression as he continued: "I am afraid a demon managed to get the better of you."

  He raised his right hand, and the black sword that had belonged to the dismembered bat-creature lifted up off the ground. It turned slowly in the air until the blade was pointed at Gretis, and then it lurched forward. An internal scream of rage erupted from Kota, and all the power of his animus boiled up, yet still, he was unable to move as the weapon flew into Gretis’s stomach. A shrill gasp escaped her as the sword buried itself up to the hilt. Her eyes went wide, and she dropped to her knees, suddenly free of the Emperor's impossibly powerful grip.

  Kota growled through his teeth, straining even harder. The Emperor turned to him as Gretis fell forward into a pool of her own blood. Kota heard every rasping breath she drew—every duller, slower beat of her heart, and he could not believe it. Gretis was dying!

  "It is a hard thing," Tacitus said, looking him in the eyes. "I had to watch everyone I loved die in the war." He stepped in front of Gretis, obscuring Kota's view of her. The rasping drew to a slow stop then.

  "WHY?" Kota managed to snarl through his fangs. A pair of tears dripped down his face.

  "The greater good," Tacitus said, unblinking. "I do not expect you to grasp that. How could you? You cannot fathom the things I know." He walked forward and put a hand on Kota's shoulder. "I can feel how badly you want to attack me right now, and I do not blame you in the slightest. She was such a fine woman, Princess Angretta."

  A growl emitted from Kota’s throat. If he could just get one hand free…

  "Before I dispel your soul, I wish you to know that I am sparing your tribe," Tacitus whispered, and he turned his head just a little to the right, nodding back in the direction of the Nakawa village. "My liches are obliterating their memories of the past few days, and the other craith are removing all the carcasses of all the demons. Your parents, I'm afraid, shall never learn what happened to you, but they will be alive. It is a mercy, and it is all I can offer you now."

  Kota saw figures in black and silver rise from the sides of the mountain. His animus sense, it seemed, was somehow being suppressed along with his strength, but these creatures had a subtle, disgusting scent about them that reminded him of death.

  The Emperor raised his hand to Kota's forehead and pressed his thumb down as he began to chant. Almost immediately, Kota felt a swell of cold, unworldly energy move through him. It flowed to every part of his being, and then, gradually, it began to pull. He felt a sense of separation—like everything that made him who he was being drawn out of the vesse
l that was his body.

  "I sincerely hope you can join your teacher in whatever form of heaven the two of you find," Tacitus whispered.

  Kota began to feel a sense of peace. His time in the world was over. His concerns did not matter any longer, for he could do nothing to affect them. Then something visceral happened that he did not at first understand. The familiar force of his animus reached up around what seemed to be his soul and pulled it back, tearing through the Emperor’s magic. All sense of disembodiment shattered, and Kota was again staring into the eyes of Tacitus Adronicus, alert and awake.

  "How the HELL—" The Emperor shouted. He looked Kota up and down with an almost stupefied expression. After a brief moment, he pursed his lips under his thick mustache and shook his head. "Your animus is stronger than I ever guessed, my boy. It is trying to help you, but it most certainly is not." The old man cast him a dark, contemplative stare, and then hissed: "I am afraid you are going to be trapped in there. I wanted this to be painless, but the normal means do not work on you, so I shall have to reach from somewhere much... darker." The Emperor began to chant again.

  Kota felt an icy force rip into him, and immediately he felt sick. It was foul and vicious, stinging his nerves as it took control. Whatever invisible power Tacitus had been using to hold him in place vanished away, yet even as it did Kota still could not twitch a muscle. His gaze shifted suddenly, his eyes turning of their own accord. He watched his own hand come up, claws extended. The fingers twiddled for an instant, and he felt them move, but the action was driven by the cruel, alien power that now resided within him.

  "Can you still hear me, shamalak?" Tacitus said. Kota gave no response, for he could not. The Emperor peered at him for a moment, then turned and looked at one of the black figures. It moved forward as if commanded by his thoughts, carrying a bundle in its gauntleted hands. Kota watched his own hand reach out slowly and take something metallic from the top of this bundle and raise it up: a silver mask. The thing was heavy, and it had thick leather straps that had been boiled to hardness and riveted to fit around the back of a skull. Against all internal desire, Kota drew the mask up over his head and slid it down until his eyes were peering out through the cold, rectangular slits.