by Wight, Will
How best to defeat the boy, though? Alin would only have to retreat back into his Territory and hide behind his City’s walls, and he would be protected. Zakareth did not like his chances of fighting an Elysian Traveler within the City of Light itself.
He would need Travelers who specialized in killing other Travelers. Those whose powers did not fade in foreign Territories, and who could follow the Elysian no matter where he went.
The solution was clear. He needed the House of Blades, whole and behind him. No more could they be allowed to stand fragmented and unsupervised. They had to stand for him, and him alone.
“We have many plans to make,” King Zakareth said, and he felt his red eye flare with heat.
“Then let us get started,” Queen Cynara responded. She gave him a slow smile. “But first, why don’t you try out your new powers? We need to remake Cana in our image, and we wouldn’t want to be…interrupted.”
She was clearly implying something, but Zakareth didn’t understand what. Not at first. Then he cast his mind back, into the part of him that was the Incarnation of Ragnarus, and knowledge flooded his mind like a sunrise. He knew every weapon in the Vault, knew its name and history, knew its price, felt its hunger like his own.
He held one hand out over the dungeon beneath the palace, where Cana’s Hanging Tree once stood, and he called upon his Territory.
The Pillar of Sunset rose from the ground, a column of smoldering red and black stone. It rose steadily, foot by foot, rising past the King’s hand. He let his fingers trail along the smooth stone as the pillar slid by, its black stone marbled with veins of shining red. Finally it cracked the ceiling, emerging out of the royal palace and towering above the entire city.
From the top of the pillar, a curtain of red light spread like a pool of blood over a glass dome, trickling down until the entire city of Cana was sealed in an inverted bowl of crimson light. No one would be able to walk past the light, not in this world or in any other.
Zakareth had never been taught that this artifact existed. He’d never even heard of it. But now he knew exactly how to activate it, knew precisely what price it would exact from the city’s citizens over the coming weeks and months.
But some prices must be paid.
***
Alin landed on the walls of Enosh in a flare of orange light.
He stood with his back to the sun, golden armor gleaming, and the city buzzed beneath him. Guards on the walls pointed and murmured to one another, some running off to spread the word. The people below, going about their everyday business, pointed to him and dropped what they were doing. Laundry baskets fell unnoticed to the ground, street vendors boarded up their carts, and mothers dragged their children over to stand beneath him at the foot of the wall. They called up to him:
“Welcome back, Eliadel!”
“Where have you been?”
“Give us a speech!”
Alin smiled down on them, welling up with compassion.
These are innocent people, whispered the Rose Light of Elysia. The light was a part of him now, and he could feel its thoughts as easily as his own.
You can teach them, the Silver said. They had never known what their leaders were planning. Their only crime was to trust in the words of those in authority.
But he did not speak to them. He was waiting for someone, and patience was a part of him now. The Green Light approved.
A few in the crowd seemed to notice his eyes. They whispered to one another, hiding their gossip behind cupped hands, and pointing at him as subtly as they could. He knew what they were seeing, but he offered no explanation. His eyes shone with the light of Elysia now, with all its rainbow of colors. The lights would shift, angry red one moment and soft blue-green the next.
He remained silent, waiting. And soon the people grew silent with him.
Patience, the Green Light whispered. You only need to wait.
It did not take as long as he had imagined for the Grandmasters to come investigate. Grandmaster Helgard, by reputation and title the most skilled Helgard Traveler in the city, hurried across the courtyard. He was a shaggy bear of a man, with broad shoulders and a brown beard down almost to his chest. As a representative of his Territory, he wore a blue cloak lined with white fur: the standard Helgard uniform.
He marched toward the nearest guard tower as though he meant to walk through it, his shoulders set like he was heading into battle. It would take him a few minutes to climb the stairs of the guard tower all the way up to the top of the walls, where he would want a word with Alin in person.
Alin didn't mind the wait. He silently studied his people, searching their expressions.
In the eyes of many, he saw worship. They thought of him as an idol, as a messenger descended from the heavens. He would have to dissuade them of that. He was not an idol, but an ideal.
However, this group was still the closest to perfection. They would obey him, following his orders without question, and as a result their training would be the lightest and easiest. They had the shortest distance to travel.
On the faces of many others, he saw confusion. They looked upon him while trying to decide what they thought, wondering what he represented, asking themselves what he wanted. This group could be persuaded. He would have to prove himself to them, but he knew that they would see it, given time. He would show them that he was worthy, and that they could be too.
Their road would be hard, but not long. They, too, could find the way.
Then there was the third group: those who wore the uniforms of different Territories. There, an Avernus Traveler in a buckskin dress with feathers adorning her head. And over there, another man in the blue-and-white coat of Helgard. The Travelers had the longest and most difficult path to perfection.
They had been aware of their leaders' goals. They knew what the Grandmasters meant to do. These lesser Travelers were not beyond redemption, but their transformation would be filled with pain.
He turned his smile on them. The Travelers didn't know it now, but they would be better off for the pain.
It will be a long, hard job, the Red Light said. But it will be worth doing.
Grandmaster Helgard clapped a hand on Alin's armored shoulder, and Alin realized that he had been watching the crowd for several minutes.
Helgard frowned through his beard. “What is this, Eliadel? What have you done to the wall?”
That was not the first question Alin had expected.
To the wall? He looked at his feet.
Where he stood, the bricks that made up the wall had turned to gold. He was standing in a perfect golden circle, about two feet across, that had once been made of stone.
Your presence as an Incarnation, the Violet Light told him. You’re not human anymore.
“And where have you been?” Helgard continued, anger creeping into his voice. “There's much work to be done. We can't have you running off at a time like this. No one has seen you or Naraka all day, and some of us are getting worried.”
That name acted like a spark on the dry timber of Alin's spirit. His patience evaporated in a cloud of smoke, and he found that one of his gauntleted hands was holding Grandmaster Helgard around the throat.
Fascinating. Did anger still have that much of a hold over him? He would have to work on that.
The man struggled, and yesterday he would have been able to overpower Alin in a purely physical contest. Today, Alin called Red Light from Elysia. Shining ropes of red twisted up his limbs, feeding him strength, and Helgard might as well have tried to wrestle a statue.
The crowd below noticed, and their murmuring swelled to a worried roar.
Alin reached out to his Territory, summoning a creature that he sensed deep within the Silver District. It appeared in midair almost instantly, like a single steel eye hovering on fluttering insect wings. It buzzed around his head, bobbing up and down in excitement.
“My people,” Alin began, and the fluttering eye repeated his words at a much louder volume. Alin's voice
boomed throughout the streets of Enosh. He would have been surprised if anyone in the city failed to hear him.
“I have discovered a disturbing truth. As many of you know, I have executed the King of Damasca for his crimes against life and humanity.”
Somewhere among the people, a cheer was born, but Alin drowned it out. “Imagine my disappointment when I found that your Grandmasters were guilty of even greater crimes.”
The remnants of the cheer faded to uneasy silence.
“While the royal line of Damasca has based its three-century reign on the sacrifice of their citizens, they have done so for a cause. They believed that they were protecting the world from a more violent fate. Even if their actions were detestable, their intentions, at least, were pure.
“The Grandmasters of Enosh, by contrast, sought to release that deadly fate upon the world.” Alin turned to the thrashing man steadily turning purple in his grip. “Isn't that right, Grandmaster Helgard?”
Alin's hand opened, releasing the Grandmaster. He fell to his knees, coughing and retching, trying to get a full breath.
Alin waited, Green Light whispering patience into his mind.
“What Damasca is doing is an abomination,” Helgard finally gasped out. “We were trying to restore the Territories to their natural state.” The silver eye carried the man's words to the citizens below.
“By releasing the most powerful monsters in all the Territories onto an unsuspecting world,” Alin announced. “By letting the Incarnations slaughter as they please. I have visited the village of Myria, which is now little more than a pile of ashes. When the Naraka Incarnation was released—as a direct result of your actions, Grandmaster—it tore Bel Calem to pieces. Then it moved on to an innocent village.”
Grandmaster Helgard looked like he was trying to focus on getting his breath back, more than his next turn to speak. The crowd muttered, confused.
“Who cares?” someone called out. “That's a Damascan village.”
“I was born in Myria,” Alin said softly. The people fell silent once again. “The people there knew nothing of Damascan royalty or human sacrifice.”
Except for Leah, he thought, though the idea didn't inspire the anger it once had. She would have to be held accountable for her dishonesty, but it was nothing to upset him. Not anymore.
Beneath him, the circle of gold had widened. A spot on the wall, about three feet across, had transformed from rough stone to shining gold. Even the texture had changed, smoothing out to a polished gleam.
Like the walls of Elysia.
“Here is my question to you, Grandmaster, to be answered in front of all your people. Why? Why release the Incarnations? What have you to gain from this?”
Grandmaster Helgard had risen to his feet, and there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Why? Because the reign of Ragnarus over all other Territories is unnatural and unjust. Because, despite what they would tell you, Damasca has no divine right to control the Territories. And because the Incarnations will not go wild, as those royals claim. They will join us in destroying Damasca! Why would they not? We have some of the most powerful Travelers in the world, and we alone oppose those who have imprisoned them for three centuries.”
“So,” Alin said, and the word echoed through all of Enosh. “You think you can control the Incarnations.” He filled one hand with shining golden light. “Why don’t we put that to the test?”
In his mind, the Gold Light laughed.
Alin’s last words were almost drowned out as the howling wind of Helgard blasted him from empty space. Only a flare of Orange Light kept him from being blown over by the sheer force of the wind, and he was all but blinded by a rush of snow. Something roared over even the wind, and he sensed more than saw a flare of silver behind him.
Alin spun around, hurling Gold Light as he turned.
The light slammed into a white-furred, horned creature almost twice Alin's height. It did nothing more than scorch the beast’s fur. The creature drew itself up on its hind legs like a man and growled, reaching one paw out to fill its hand with an icicle longer than Alin's leg.
Grandmaster Helgard knelt behind his Gate, chanting and contorting his fingers into twisted shapes. As he did, his Gate grew wider, as though he were preparing to call something much bigger.
In the back of his mind, Alin reached for the Violet Light of honesty. He summoned sheets of shimmering violet, like fabric made entirely of light, into his hands and cast them like a net toward the huge, furred beast. The light wrapped around the summoned monster like a layer of bandages on a body prepared for burial. The creature roared once more from within its purple wrappings, and then the whole package imploded into a pinprick of vivid violet.
The Violet Light corrected the balance of the world, banishing anything that didn't belong back to its home Territory. It was also, Alin sensed, one of the most difficult to summon. One strip of the paper-thin light would cost him more effort than a dozen orbs of golden force.
At least, it would have yesterday.
Another strip of violet twisted up from the ground like an unspooling bandage, wrapping itself around the Grandmaster's Helgard Gate. It shivered for a moment, as though resisting, and then blinked shut.
Grandmaster Helgard staggered back as though he had been slapped, and Alin stepped forward to meet him.
“If you are so weak, how can you protect your citizens?” Alin asked, and the hovering silver eye caught his words and cast them out to the crowd. “I will do a better job protecting Enosh. Protecting my people.”
The silence from the crowd lasted a moment longer, and then they burst into applause. With a simple mental effort, Alin banished the silver eye. He didn't need it anymore.
The Grandmaster didn't bother with a rebuttal. He was muttering in his strange language again, making signs with his hands.
Red Light swirled around Alin's arm as he reached out and slapped Helgard's hands apart. “I only have one question for you, Helgard. Where is Grandmaster Naraka?”
Helgard's face filled with stubborn fury. “Is this what you wanted all along? A city to call your own?”
“I have a city,” Alin said calmly. “It's much nicer than this one, so I'm thinking about bringing it here. Now, I will ask one more time. Where is Grandmaster Naraka?”
“With you, Eliadel. If you don't have her, then I can only be pleased that she escaped. If anyone will be able to flog your rebellious hide, it will be her.” Then he spat at Alin's feet.
Such gestures did not bother him now. He simply summoned his sword—its blade formed from interlocking planes of golden light—and ran Helgard through.
There was no road to perfection for this Grandmaster. He had knowingly endangered his people and the world. It was only right that he should suffer the consequences. The Blue Light begged for mercy, the Gold cheered his decisive action, and the Rose asked him to stop. But in this, his mind was made up.
The Grandmasters would have to die.
The golden circle had engulfed most of the wall near Alin, and he thought the gleaming gold looked much better than the irregular, dirty stone. The gold was clean, smooth, and even. He would have to make sure to rebuild the entire wall of Enosh in the image of Elysia.
Alin looked out over the city, and he realized that there was much work to be done before he could oppose the other Incarnations. Months of work, at least. He accepted that fact, letting green patience rule him. He would do as much as he could for this city. As much as needed to be done.
He would start by finding the other Grandmasters and introducing them to their fate.
No matter how long it took.
***
Simon leaned on the crutch the Nye had made for him, hobbling down the hallway. He wasn’t supposed to be out of bed except to use the pool—Olissa’s orders—but this was his responsibility.
“Where are you going to go?” he asked.
Ilana stopped at the entry hall. Her hair was bound up behind her, and she carried a pack of supplies on
her back. “I’m going after my brother. Somebody has to keep him from making an even worse mess of things.”
“Alin’s an Incarnation now,” Simon said hesitantly. “Are you sure he’ll even want to see you?”
She leaned over and ruffled Simon’s hair, which she’d done to Alin when he was a little boy. Simon had always thought it looked embarrassing and uncomfortable. Now, he discovered that he was absolutely right.
“I don’t understand all this Traveler stuff,” she said, hitching her pack up onto one shoulder. “But you don’t need to worry about me. I’ll figure something out.”
This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, and Ilana had clearly made up her mind. So, even though the strain felt like it would kill him, Simon called steel. Then he reached up and pulled Azura down from the wall.
After Ilana passed through the Gate and into the outside world, he stood in the entry hall for a few long minutes, thinking. Back in Myria, he’d never known Ilana particularly well, but he found himself wishing she would succeed. He hoped she found Alin and talked him back to sanity.
Because if she failed, and Alin went on a rampage, Simon would have to kill him.
CHAPTER THREE:
GATES IN THE SNOW
358th Year of the Damascan Calendar
1st Year in the Reign of Queen Leah I
Winter’s End
Six months later, Simon gathered his black cloak around him. For once, he was glad of its warmth. The color stuck out even more than usual against the snow, painting him like a single blot of ink on a sheet of parchment. He was higher up in the mountains than he had ever been, nestled in a tiny valley surrounded by rock walls.
The whole scene was covered in three feet of snow—more than Simon had ever seen in one place except through a Helgard Gate. He had seen mountains, where snow would gather on the very tops, and they experienced the occasional flurry in Myria, but the flakes usually melted the moment they hit the ground. Before he left the village, he’d never seen more than wet patches of slush.
He had only imagined an endless white blanket like this. It was even colder than he would have expected.