Your path is the path to power. I am the only way you will achieve the power you seek. Gain Kerberos' favour once more, and he will guide you. Spread the fire wherever you can, and unlimited power will be yours.
He marched in silence, thinking about Sithares' words. It was true; without Sithares, he would be nowhere near as powerful as he was now. Kailen's Kaizuun granted him a great deal of power, but he didn't have the magic of the Kaizeluun to control it. Fire Magic, however, was completely under his control. He practised every day, and while he wasn't as powerful as Kerberos or Aella, he was steadily gaining power.
Even more important than power, he was accepted and respected by the Thearans. His own people had rejected him. They thought he wasn't good enough to wield the Kaizuun. He hated them for it, and his hate fuelled the Fire Magic within him. He felt it burn in his chest. His muscles bulged as the magic swelled with his rage. The hate, and the power it gave him, felt amazing. Sithares was right. This was his path.
The sun set half a day's march from Mara. Kerberos ordered the tribe to set up camp, and a group went hunting south of the river where the forest was thickest. Dakesh stayed behind and helped build the camp-site. After dark, while the campfires still burned, shouts rang out from the warriors patrolling the camp to the east. Dakesh sat in front of his fire, meditating. He thought about Omatus, though he'd never been there. He planned on distinguishing himself in the battle, showing Kerberos that he was a loyal servant of Sithares. It was a chance to gain even more power. The more Omati he could kill, the more power Sithares would grant him.
The shouts became clashing steel, and Dakesh stood, drawing his Kaizuun. He looked towards the edge of the camp-site. Among the bright fiery auras of the Thearans, he saw what looked like an aura made of shadow. There was a purple tinge to it, but other than that it was an odd, glowing darkness. It drew in the light around it, making the auras of the Thearans dimmer. There was something uncomfortable about the shadow, almost familiar. As he watched, the auras of two Thearans flickered out. Seizing the chance to further impress Kerberos, he ran to fight.
The shadow fought against half a dozen Thearans. The magic of the Kaizuun made the fight look like bonfires in a hurricane. As he approached, a phantom blade streaked towards his face, and he ducked under it just in time. Two more Thearans fell, and the shadow flew over the remaining warriors, landing in front of Dakesh. His heart stopped as he saw the face beneath the dark aura.
"TRAITOR!" Elana screamed.
Dakesh stared at Elana, awestruck. She was a beautiful woman, and a fierce warrior. She was older than Dakesh by eight years, and he looked up to her; she was the warrior he wanted to be. She stared back at him, smirking, in her sleeveless black tunic. Her face, bare arms and hands were covered in brand new tattoos, ancient Shenza symbols which granted amazing powers to those skilled enough to use them. Angular, aggressive patterns streaked over her skin beside her eyes and over her cheeks. The tattoos flowed down her neck, over her shoulders and covered most of her arms. Each mark held its own spell, and all were under the control of the Kaizeluun who wore them. Dakesh had never felt such intense longing in his life; both for the woman and for the power she wielded.
They stood on a wide circular training platform, high above the forest floor. Painted wooden targets surrounded them, hanging from nearby branches and attached to posts on the platform's edge. It was the first time Dakesh had seen her since she took the Shadow Trials. Kailen stood next to him, staring at Elana with the same expression. She leapt over their heads, flipped, and in one lighting fast motion threw three black throwing blades into the centre of three different targets. She landed silently, poised and perfectly balanced. On her wrist, a tattoo of a blade glowed purple briefly before settling back to black.
Dakesh was always smitten by Elana. But in that moment, he fell in love with her. Her grace, her talent, her confidence, her power. She was beautiful. Powerful. Deadly. And she was smiling at him.
"Don't worry, Kuulshenza," she said, "One day soon you will forge Kaizuun of your own, and we will destroy the Ermoori together once and for all."
Kuulshenza meant "young warriors"; a title usually reserved for the children of the Shenza who hadn't yet passed their tests and become Daishen. Elana used it playfully, but it still stung Dakesh's pride. He wanted her, more than anything except becoming Kaizeluun himself, yet she still called him a child.
"I'll be Kaizeluun the moment I'm old enough to take the tests!" Dakesh shouted. "You'll see!"
Elana laughed. There was no mocking in the sound; it was the most beautiful laugh Dakesh ever heard. But it broke his heart anyway. She just didn't see him as a warrior. It made him furious. He was younger than her, but that didn't mean he couldn't achieve what she achieved. She was still holding her sword. She frowned at him as his mood darkened.
"Dakesh... walk with me."
Without waiting, she stepped off the platform, down a curved walkway and out of sight. Dakesh ran to keep up. They walked together in silence, Dakesh waiting for her to talk. She led him through the trees until they left the city. She sat on a thick branch and gestured next to her. Dakesh sat down.
It was a beautiful spot; an opening in the trees before them created a valley of sunlight dappled green by the leaves overhead. Clouds of insects floated through the vibrant shafts of light piercing the canopy. Birds darted through the insects, singing to each other. The beauty before him, and that of the woman next to him, calmed his soul. He breathed out, and his fury of a moment ago was released.
"Remember this place," Elana said, "when you feel angry again." She looked at him. He looked at her.
"Do you know why the Shenza live in Shanaken? In the forests?"
Dakesh shook his head.
"This is where all life on Pandeia began. It spread from the Eternal Mountain-" she pointed up at the towering mountain in the centre of the forest – "through all of Pandeia. Amalus lives in a clearing on the peak of the mountain, creating more life every day. It's why this forest is so full of life, and why the further you travel from here, the less life you'll find.
In ancient times, when the trees were young, the first Warrior was put here to protect the mountain until Amalus could make the forest powerful enough to protect itself. The Shenza have stayed here ever since. Though the forest no longer needs our protection, we were created for this place. It is our purpose."
He knew about Amalus, of course; all of the Shenza did. The God of life, born within Pandeia itself. It exhaled life, giving birth to every creature and plant in the world over thousands of years. But he always thought of the stories as myth, simple tales to teach children about the world and how it came to be. He never took them literally, but it seemed Elana did.
"This place is the source of our strength, the source of the Kaizel. You are a great warrior, Dakesh, but to use Shadow Magic you must be in control of your emotions. Look closer at the birds."
Dakesh watched them intently for a few moments as they darted among the insects, but he didn't understand what she was talking about. Then one of them went for the same insect as another and they started chirping and pecking at each other in mid air. While the two birds fought, the small swarm of insects flew away. A third bird speared through the swarm as it flew, picking insects out of the air in precise, controlled dives.
As he watched, the two fighting birds tore into each other. Locked in each other's claws and beaks, they plummeted out of the canopy, screeching and bleeding. They fell out of sight. Dakesh heard their screeches stop suddenly. Elana put her hand on his shoulder.
"Strength without aggression. One of the three tenets of the Shenza. Remember it, Dakesh, and you will become a great Kaizeluun."
Elana stood before him in the dark, shadow magic coming off her in cold waves. Her bright purple eyes flashed with fury, and her chest rose and fell in short, sharp bursts. Dakesh couldn't remember ever seeing her this furious. She was terrifying. A Kaizeluun for over ten years, one of the most talented in the history of t
he Shenza. And her blade was raised at him. Even with his Kaizuun and Fire Magic combined, Dakesh couldn't win this fight.
He remembered the Thearan warriors who came back from the dead. They were still utterly blank, their empty eyes staring at nothing as they mindlessly followed Kerberos' orders. He never feared death as a Daishen. But knowing he would come back as an empty shell, unable to grow and learn, stagnant and listless while the world moved on around him; he couldn't handle that. It was unnatural.
Elana disappeared, striking so quickly that his Kaizuun offered no warning. Her blade sliced his neck, too shallow to kill but far too close. She struck again. He managed to block, barely, and was smashed off his feet by a foot or a fist; he couldn't tell which. He stared up at her from the dirt. A memory jolted him:
Dakesh is young, still only a Kuulshen. He, Elana and Kailen are talking about the powers of the Kaizeluun.
"I heard one of the tests is facing off against a shadow viper," Elana said, excited.
"No way!" Dakesh said, "They're way too fast! No Shenza could hope to win!"
"I could!" she shoved him without warning, and he toppled to the ground. She giggled, and Dakesh jumped to his feet, furious. He shoved her back, but she swayed out of his reach. He tried again, and she avoided all of his attacks with ease.
"See? I am already faster than a shadow viper!"
She stood above him, and he saw murder in her eyes. As he sat in the dirt, knowing he was about to die, there was only one question that came to his mind.
"Did you kill a shadow viper?" he asked her.
Her eyes widened at the unexpected question. But only for the barest second. Then the fury returned, and she stepped closer to him.
"I killed a traitor," she said, and her blade swept towards him, as fast as a shadow. Dakesh screamed a single word.
Atillus
The sun rose on Theara, the morning just as silent as the night.
The enemy camp didn't approach during the night. He gathered fifty of his warriors to attack the enemy camp, and sent another dozen to hunt more lizards and search for anything useful. Atillus himself led the fifty warriors, and they walked silently through the streets. Knowing he was about to attack an enemy force made him uncomfortably aware of the barricades, hidden passages, and spear slits running along every street. There was no way of knowing how long the tribe had been in Theara. He was unsure of how well they might know the city's layout, and how capable they would be of utilising its tactical advantages. He wasn't used to uncertainty; and even less used to battle without a plan. But there was one thing he was certain of: he wielded the power of a God. And, like every tribe he encountered so far, they would follow him the moment they saw fire magic. Especially if it was turned against them.
The building where his two warriors saw the campfire was small; their estimate of twenty warriors was generous. But the building stood empty and silent. Atillus entered and inspected the rooms. The remains of one small campfire sat in a stone basin next to the window on the side they approached from. There was a Deathclaw carcass, and scuff marks in the dust on the floor and stone benches from recent movement, but the area was deserted.
A sudden scream split the silence. Atillus ran out to the street. A spear was buried in the stomach of one of his warriors, coming from one of the slits in the wall next to the building's entrance.
"Ambush!" he shouted, although the Thearans in the street were already reacting. A few of them ran to find a way into the passages behind the street, but most were turning and trying to engage the enemy through the spear slits. Although their instincts were good in open battle in the desert, they were obviously inexperienced in close quarters combat, and definitely against an opponent hidden behind an impenetrable wall. Spears lanced out of almost every slit in the walls, and at least ten of his warriors were horribly wounded.
"Get out of the street!" he ordered, "NOW!" They didn't need to be told again. They ran, but the enemy lined the streets behind their barricades, and spears shot out of the slits as they went, further along the street than he would have believed. Their tribe must have been at least two hundred strong; a very large tribe by modern standards. Wasting no more time, he ran back into the small building, jumped out an adjacent window, and found a side alley. As he expected, it led into the secret passages on the other side of the wall. The enemy warriors were running down the narrow passage away from him, catching up with his own tribe further down the street.
Atillus sprinted down the passage. The first Thearan didn't hear him approach, and was dead before he knew he was in danger. The second and third died the same way, and it wasn't until he reached the fourth that he was finally spotted. The fourth warrior managed a shriek of alarm before he died, and a few of the Thearans ahead of him turned. Atillus snarled at them and hurled a fireball which exploded on contact, utterly destroying one of the warriors and sending the other smashing against the side of the passage, her head caved in and her clothing aflame.
The explosion alerted more of the Thearans, but Atillus had already settled into the hot, electric blood-lust of battle, and he welcomed them with a predatory grin. Fire surged down the secret passageway in an unstoppable wave, and through the screams and smoke Atillus felt his power slowly growing. He ran down the passage, breathing in the smoke, marvelling at how good it felt in his lungs.
The surviving enemy warriors completely abandoned their attack, running from Atillus as fast as they could. He let them go; terrified survivors spread messages of terror and death, and he wanted the remains of this enemy tribe scared to face them again. He found an exit into the street, and came out to see his tribe all the way back in the city square. The street they came from was littered with at least a dozen corpses. The enemy tribe were gone. He started back towards the great hall, wondering how many eyes watched him as he walked.
Atillus doubled the guard that night, but no more attacks came. The next morning, he sent a few scouts to locate the enemy tribe. He spent some time sitting in his tent, recalling information he'd read about ancient Theara. There was almost no information about the layout of the city itself; he would need to search all of Theara himself to find what he was looking for. The more pressing need for now, however, was destroying the hidden enemy tribe. Atillus prayed to Sithares, and waited silently in his tent for an answer.
The day after the ambush, in the late afternoon, Atillus was approached by a group of about thirty Thearan warriors. His own warriors rushed out into the city square, forming battle ranks. He gestured to them to stay put. If this was a battle, they would have brought their entire force. However, weary of their use of sneak attacks, Atillus waved Nomiki over to him and whispered to her.
"Send a watch to guard each side of the great hall. And to the street entrances into the square. We will not be ambushed again." Nomiki nodded and walked briskly back into the hall. A woman strode forward from the group towards Atillus. She was tall, at least six foot tall, broad shouldered and muscular. A longsword swayed in a scabbard against her shoulder blades. Most Thearans wielded short swords or spears, and the sight of the weapon was rare among the tribes. Atillus noted it, and the way the warrior moved, and hoped he wouldn't have to fight her. Her muscles rippled as she moved, and there was a look of determination and steel-like will in her eyes. She came to a stop a metre from Atillus.
"Greetings, warlord," she spoke loudly enough for Atillus' tribe to hear her. It was a term of great respect, but there was a dangerous tone underneath that suggested something else. "My warriors have told me you're touched by Sithares." There was a challenge in her features as she spoke, almost a wry amusement lighting her eyes. It struck Atillus the wrong way, and he was suddenly furious. She was mocking him, and although the survivors of his fire magic would have told her exactly what happened, she obviously didn't believe in Sithares or magic. Distantly, underneath his fury, Atillus was surprised in the total lack of faith that seemed to be present throughout all of the tribes.
Without warning or ceremony, he
burst into flame from head to toe. He stoked the fire in his soul with the fury he felt at her, and made it as hot as possible. Her look of shocked disbelief turned quickly to pain, and she took several steps back, shielding her face with her arms as heat radiated from him in waves. He heard gasps and disbelieving shouts from the warriors facing him. He kept pushing the fire, focusing it and intensifying it until nothing else existed. His rage grew, becoming a beast of its own, and it fed the fire even more. He screamed, and just as he thought he'd used all of his magic, a change came over him. Suddenly the rage disappeared. He no longer felt the drain of using magic, but the fire still burned. It held a calm, flickering strength of its own. He could feel it burning through his entire body. He felt a strength and energy he'd never felt before, beyond even the first time he was blessed with fire magic.
This is your true form, my son. You have given me more power than I would have believed for one mortal; I am gifting a fraction of it to you now. While in this form, you cannot be killed. It will run out, but it will take much longer than using fire magic in your mortal body.
Atillus smiled at the tribe leader recoiling from him. She stopped shielding her face and stared at his burning body.
"It is true!" She said quietly. The look of fear passed quickly, and was replaced by an almost maniacal conviction. She turned to her tribe. "He wields the power of the God of Fire!" she shouted to them all. There was no response; they were alternating between staring at her, and staring at Atillus.
"Now, behold: the Thearan warrior who killed the Son of Sithares!" She laughed and turned back to Atillus, drawing her longsword as she did.
"You dare challenge the Son of Sithares?" Atillus snarled. She took a step forward and swung her longsword at Atillus' head. Gauging her strength, he judged her swing was easily enough to kill him in one blow. His faith in Sithares was unshakeable, however, and instead of ducking or blocking the attack, he stood perfectly still, calmly watching the blade arc towards him. He realised he was perceiving the attack incredibly quickly; it looked to him as though she was swinging her sword through a pool of thick oil. He raised his hand, watching as it rose. He moved much faster than his enemy's blade. He set it back down at his side, and waited for the sword to strike him.
Gods and Heroes- Rise of Fire Page 23