From Cold Ashes Risen (The War Eternal Book 3)

by Rob J. Hayes

  The edge was perilous and crumbling. Bits of the mountain, rocks both large and small, had long since broken away and floated there, caught in the grip of the same magic that kept the mountain afloat. Despite the erosion, there were no large satellite islands, unlike Ro'shan which had three, orbiting at varying heights and speeds. I approached the edge with caution and a will to show none of it. I have ever been good at putting on a show of bravado for an audience. Closer to the chain, I had to brush a few floating rocks and some dirt away. The first of the links erupted from the mountainside just a short way below the surface, no more than twice my own inconsiderable height. Even so, it would be impossible for Horralain to hit it from where we stood, and difficult to lower him down.

  "How do we get him down?" Hardt asked, creeping close to the edge, yet keeping his weight on the back foot. "One of your portals?"

  No! That thing is watching, Eskara. There is something about this place. This city. It is closer here; its attention is focused. It senses me through you, and it is curious.

  I shook my head. "A portal is a bad idea. There's something watching on the other side of it."

  Aerolis drew close, yet still far away from Horralain and the hammer. I felt the wind of the Djinn stirring my cloak, and others pulled their own clothes tighter. I had a Pyromancy Source inside once more, keeping me warm no matter the chill air.

  "Do not engage with it, this thing on the other side," Aerolis hissed.

  "Why? What do you know of it?"

  "That it will tear you apart if it takes an interest." The vortex intensified. "I would suggest not attracting its eye."

  The Djinn was not telling the truth, but then that didn't surprise me, and it shouldn't surprise you. I have noticed the powerful rarely tell the truth, but instead only offer up parts of it, enough to placate anyone with questions. And enough to hide true agendas behind the shadows of false truths. Secrets are a commodity. They are worth so much until they are revealed, and then they are worth nothing. I unpicked many of the Djinn's secrets before I left Do'shan. I learned the truth about them and the Rand. And I discovered why, despite all their power, the Djinn never use portals.

  "Can you help us get down to the chain?" I asked Aerolis.

  "No." The Djinn sounded sullen and sulky." My power is trapped here as Mezula's is trapped on Ro'shan. We are each of us prisoners in cages of the other's making."

  "There must be something you can do. You are a Djinn, master of earth, metal, and stone. Your people are the wind, you are fire, you are lightning. So, stop sulking behind the walls of your cage, and help me break them."

  After a few moments of blowing in my face, the Djinn's maddening turned away from me, the wind no longer pulling at my cloak. One of the nearby buildings, a squat thing of grey stone and in dire need of repair, crumbled into a thousand rocks, as though it hadn't just been worked stone. The rocks floated through the air towards us, all to the cooing purrs of the nearby ferals, then started reshaping themselves into a set of steps. The steps crashed to the ground with a thump that I felt through my feet and then slid forwards until they dropped over the edge of the mountain. I heard a clang as they hit the first link of the chain. The Djinn's whirling form turned back to me. "The rest is up to you, terran."

  The steps were not wide, nor deep, and with the wind howling about us at such a height, it was treacherous footing. I went first, choosing the inelegant method of sliding down each step on my arse. Dignity is all fine and well, but the threat of a fatal drop will do wonders to cure you of such vanity. I chose the safest option to descend and Horralain copied me, Shatter held rigid in his hands.

  Once my feet touched the chain, I knelt and pressed a hand to the freezing metal. I could tell no difference between that and any other metal, but then Ingomancy is not one of attunements. However, I had senses no other did, and yet I felt no fear from the chain. It seemed to me, that it was nothing but cold, lifeless iron. I stood and backed up a small step to allow Horralain past me and he grunted, his face intense with concentration I could well understand. We had, both of us, climbed the great chain at Ro'shan and neither of us wanted a reminder of such a harrowing ordeal.

  I pointed at the next link in the chain. "That one. Hit it."

  Horralain hefted the hammer in his hands, a look of consternation creasing his brutish features. "You don't need to be down here," he said in that slow voice of his.

  I snorted and braced myself against a gust of wind that threatened to rip me free from the precarious footing. "Just get on with it, Horralain."

  The big Terrelan grunted, swung Shatter up, over his head, and brought it down on the next link in the chain. He didn't swing it like a weapon at an enemy, rather like a pick at a rock. We were, all of us, forged into what we are by the Pit. It remains in us and will continue to do so long after the rest of Isha has forgotten its existence.

  A large section of the link shattered into jagged shards of metal that crumbled away, falling into the void below. Do'shan trembled.

  I do not idly say that the mountain shook. I do not mean a localised shudder, but more like an earthquake. Which was somewhat disconcerting given we were so high up, the ground below was a hazy image of muted colour and little else. Horralain and I both collapsed, gripping hold of the chain for our lives. I must admit, I'm quite glad the big thug had the presence of mind to keep hold of the hammer. A wave of fear washed over me, and I almost drowned in it. Ssserakis drank in as much as it could, but even the horror had limits. It was as if the mountain itself was terrified. Still the chain held. Horralain had hit it too high up and the links had not yet parted.

  "Hit it again," I shouted over the roaring of both wind and mountain. Horralain turned wide eyes my way, but there must have been something in my flashing glare that convinced him not to argue. He scrambled to his feet, swung the hammer once more, and brought it down on the last of the link clinging in place.

  Another section of the link shattered and fell away, and with it went the chain. I suppose I should be glad the link we were standing on was half buried in the side of the mountain. I had not the foresight to think what might happen once the tension was taken away. The mountain shook once more, fear mixed with pain turning into a scream so loud I could not tell if it were Iron's or my own. Still, I crawled to the edge of the link and watched the chain fall to the earth below. It took a long time, or perhaps it only seemed that way, and the devastation it caused look so small. But it is not. Each link as large as two houses and there were hundreds of links. Trees were crushed below the falling weight, and the earth itself was scarred. I did that. Caused it. A permanent rent in the world. Even years later, the forest is struggling to recover, to reclaim the damaged ground. Horralain and I both stood and watched until the chain came to a crashing stop. The dirt and dust thrown up into the air made for a dizzying.

  Eventually I looked up to Horralain. He gripped hold of Shatter with white knuckles. I noticed then the mountain had stopped trembling, at least for now. "Three more to go," I said with a smile I didn't feel.

  The following two chains went more smoothly, relatively speaking. It took a large part of the day to traverse the city to each one, and we collected more feral pahht each step of the way. They tittered and purred amongst themselves, excitement and fear in equal measure. Even they could tell something momentous was afoot. I think perhaps the trembling of the mountain scared them out from their underground dens. The weapons of war sat silent and I was thankful for it. They worshipped and obeyed the Djinn, and Aerolis accompanying us was a vital endorsement.

  The other chains were closer to the surface of the mountain and could be reached with only a careful drop over the edge. Even knowing there was a surface below, it is quite a thing to dangle one's legs over the edge of nothing and let yourself go. The incessant call of the void tugged at me, but my determination was set, and I ignored the fatalistic desire. I don't know why I felt the need to stand beside Horralain each time he swung the hammer. Perhaps it was because, even thoug
h he was swinging Shatter, it was my choice. My will. My responsibility.

  I watched each chain fall to the earth so far below, and I felt the monstrous Aspect within the mountain shudder with pain and fear. Perspective is an odd thing. I saw the Aspect as a monster, a parasite of unequalled scope. A thing to fear. But Iron was not just that. The Aspect was as much a prisoner on Do'shan as the Djinn. Mezula had installed Iron and given her son purpose; to lock himself in place and the mountain with him. He could not move. Could not run. Could not hide. And the chains were as his limbs. I was shattering those chains, breaking his limbs, chopping them off. And all Iron could do was tremble. He couldn't even cry out. Iron was never a monster; he was a pawn in a game much greater than him. A victim. Mezula was the monster. And so was I.

  With each broken chain, Do'shan shifted. It was not a fast shifting, but the pull of its sister city tugged at the mountain. They were designed to orbit one another, a constant whirling dance across the face of Ovaeris. By the time we came to the final chain, it was pulled taught, the city straining to be free and join in with its sister's dance.

  In the light of the day, I could see something on the horizon, a small dark blur against the blue sky, fuzzy to my sight. It was our surviving flyer; a wooden ship kept aloft by some contraption with propellers, powered by a Kinemancy Source. Our larger flyer had been shot down by the feral pahht and the weapons the Djinn made for them, but I felt some hope at seeing the smaller vessel still flying nearby even after days without contact. If we could bring it in, at least we would have a way down to the ground. It had not escaped my notice that the moment I broke the final chain, we were stranded on Do'shan.

  "Your kind are everywhere these days," the Djinn said. Aerolis was floating above us, its form a grey blur of movement against the blue sky. "There is another Aspect on that ship."

  "What do they look like?" I asked.

  The Djinn laughed, hissing wind. "She looks angry."

  Hardt groaned beside me. "Coby?"

  I nodded. "She probably hid on board as the operator without us ever knowing. A spy to report back to Mezula."

  "Could we shoot her down?" Imiko asked, her voice more timid than I was used to from her. "Like they did to our larger flyer."

  "No." I only breathed the word, but I meant it. I'm not sure if it was mercy that made the decision, or guilt. Silva's blood was on my hands, no matter what Hardt or anyone else said. She wouldn't want me to kill her sister. Despite all the friction between them, Silva always loved Coby no matter what. "Let her go. The Rand will hear about this one way or another. I'd rather not kill any more of her children if possible."

  Hardt's big hand landed on my shoulder with a firm squeeze. I didn't need to look to know he'd be smiling. He was always proud of me when I chose against violence. None of us realised what that decision would mean. How it would come back on us. A part of me wishes I had at least tried to end it there. Mercy is almost always the harder choice, with the more dire of consequences.

  "Horralain." I pointed to the chain. The link was almost level with the ground, there would be no climbing needed to reach this one.

  I have known people, leaders and those in positions of power, to make grand speeches to those nearby whenever an event of some importance is taking place. They spout eloquent words and phrases designed to inspire emotion, anger or pride most often, designed to take hold of a crowd and spur them on to action. Without direction and purpose, and often even with, that action leads to violence. Cities have fallen on the word of some fool with a loud voice and an audience. I am not one of those people. When I speak it is with purpose and intent rather than volume. I leave grandiose speeches to those with a better vocabulary and looser morals. Besides, any speech I gave at the breaking of Do'shan's chains would have been for my friends' ears only, and they would have known the words for as empty as the hole Silva's death had left in me.

  No words uttered at the final chain. Only a grunt as Horralain hefted the hammer, the squeal of shattering metal, and then a scream so loud it shook the foundations of the mountain.

  I don't know if Iron died that day. I like to think the Aspect still lives inside the core of Do'shan, but then maybe such a hope is cruelty. Perhaps it would be kinder for him to have died, rather than remain locked inside his enemy's stronghold. A prisoner with no hope of escape or rescue. His life's purpose, to lock Do'shan in place, was taken from him. Then again, maybe if he does still live, I gave him the freedom to see the world from up high. Either way, the mountain shook, and his scream of pain was so loud the feral pahht scattered, hands clutched to their ears.

  Do'shan started to move. It was a slow thing, but then both flying cities move slowly. As the broken chain fell away to wreak gravity's damage on the ground below, I felt that familiar lurch under my feet as the mountain moved free of its terrestrial shackles. The wind gave a freezing gust of joy, and then Aerolis faded away with a laugh. Where he went, I don't know, but the Djinn was still bound to Do'shan, unable to leave. Still, I had given him a measure of freedom. You might think he would be grateful, but Djinn are creatures of deals and terms, and Aerolis counted it as a debt paid for freeing Ishtar. I'm not sure the two are really comparable, but I'm still glad I paid it. Ishtar deserved that much from me and more besides.

  The flyer didn't move, even as Do'shan sailed away from it. Coby watched us go. Part of me wanted to show her a rude gesture, certain she would somehow see it. A younger me probably would have. But I was older and not nearly as rash. And I had so recently murdered her sister. I decided she was welcome to her anger and hatred.

  Chapter 9

  The weeks following my freeing of Do'shan were not easy for any of us. I did my best to ease Imiko's melancholy, but we quickly ran out of booze and I had no other ideas of how to drown grief. Of course, I didn't really understand; Imiko did not so much grieve for a person, but for a loss of innocence. I turned the poor girl into a murderer, and it was something she never quite managed to reconcile, regardless of how good she is at it. Ishtar's irrepressible cheers returned as she regained some of her mobility. I think I helped with the cheer, at least. My sword training continued, despite a sprained ankle and broken ribs, and I often made her laugh by overbalancing and ending up on my arse. She even figured out a way to join in, hobbling along with a crutch in one hand and a sword in the other. I learned a valuable lesson from my sword tutor in those weeks: Ishtar will always be better than me with a blade. Even barely able to move, she still bested me every time. Also, being smacked across the head with a crutch hurts.

  We saw Aerolis from time to time, but the Djinn spared us little attention. He was busy rebuilding Do'shan, turning the ruins into a more hospitable city, building new fortifications and repositioning weapons of war. It was easy to understand. Aerolis expected retribution. He knew Mezula would not simply accept Do'shan's newfound freedom. There was a new battle coming, and the Djinn intended to be ready. I did not forget that he had agreed to teach me the hidden secrets of Sourcery, but I gave him time. I gave myself time, as well.

  My ghosts followed me everywhere. Nobody else could see them, not even Ssserakis, but they belonged to no one else. Before Do'shan, they had only ever appeared to me one at a time, but up on that city they crowded around in their dozens. Many of them were feral pahht. I had killed so many of them, but the woodsmen from the Forest of Ten made an appearance, and even a few of the terran soldiers, though I had not killed any of them with my own hands. Isen was gone, and I admit I felt an odd loss at that. I think I missed him, even if he was just a faded apparition of his former self.

  By day, I trained, not willing to let my body soften from inactivity. Blade work some days, unarmed sparring on others, and all the while I held my Sources inside, their power ever at my call. But at night, I belonged to the Other World, Sevoari. Ssserakis maintained it was my own power that drew us there, perhaps an effect of the Iron Legion's experimentation. Apparently, I had absorbed some of the magic from an Impomancy Source. It was not enough
to bring monsters across, but it allowed us to visit Ssserakis' home. I think the horror was grateful for that, not that it would have ever admitted to it.

  As always, the Other World was dark, yet also strangely light. No sun, stars, or moons grace the sky, yet the world is lit in an odd assortment of greys and browns. Light with no source. The Djinn made a true marvel when they created that world.

  It was my power that drew us to Sevoari, but Ssserakis was the guide. The horror showed me things that no Impomancer had ever known about. It is an odd school of Sourcery, quite poorly understood even in my time. Impomancers project an immaterial spirit into the Other World, able to drift about, yet not interact. But when an Impomancer touches a creature from that world, they act as a conduit, bringing it across the space between worlds, allowing it to manifest in Ovaeris. It is not a pleasant process for either Sourcerer, or the creature brought across. And some of the inhabitants resist. Ssserakis resisted when the Iron Legion brought it across. Even in its own world, the ancient horror was not strong enough to resist Loran Orran. None of us were.

  I woke in the Other World, yet there was not light. Not even the soft grey luminescence. I awoke to darkness, yet I knew I was there. Sevoari feels different, almost as though there is a constant pressure trying to compact me while I am there. It feels odd, but also somehow right, like being wrapped in a tight embrace by a loved one. There is a strange comfort and security to the tightness.