Etchings of Power aotg-1

by Terry C. Simpson

  Without further thought, Ryne followed his shorter companion’s lead through the trees. From time to time, Ryne surged ahead, fighting a constant battle not to let his fears get the better of him. The earlier rain had not caused many floods so they made good time, skirting the muddiest sections as best they could. A few hours of hard running later, the forest thinned, and they arrived at a small, grassy plain with stunted trees. Sakari scouted ahead while Ryne remained in the woods.

  All’s well within Carnas. It must be. Ryne pictured successful hunts and afternoon meals. Children played, their laughter tinkling through the village. Babies suckled at their mothers’ teats, and the able-bodied women would now be finishing up dinner preparations. Hagan would be bustling about the inn, preparing for another night of drink. Maybe he’d finally secured a singer or dancer as he often promised. Mayor Bertram would have everyone ready to leave at a moment’s notice should something be amiss with Hagan hovering over him offering his input, never cowed by Bertram’s brash exterior.

  Images of Vana and Vera before he left swirled fresh in his mind. Their laughter and teasing when his face heated from the Temtesa’s swaying gyrations made him smile. Since meeting them, he’d given up his penchant for visiting the brothels in Astocan towns. For years, he fought the need within his loins whenever the twins were around. With his many enemies, avoiding any attachment had become a necessity. Of late, he felt his resolve wane, and he often looked forward to the sisters’ company at his home. When he returned to Carnas he would choose one of the sisters, maybe both. They would be pleased.

  “We can cross now.” Sakari’s words snapped him from his reverie.

  With Sakari in the lead once more, they sprinted across the plain and entered the Fretian Woods. They kept close to the forest’s edge so they could see any threat that may come their way. The closer they came to Carnas, the more tension built within Ryne until his shoulders ached. Eventually, he pushed hard for home, often outpacing Sakari. Twilight’s ethereal fingers pricked the clouds on the horizon in bruised purple hues as they reached the Orchid Plains.

  A mile out from Carnas they found the first body. It was Hagan. Something had torn his body in half.

  CHAPTER 21

  Ryne snarled at the sight of Hagan’s body.

  Around the corpse, dried blood, the color of rust covered the earth and crushed grass in a congealed mass of entrails. Yellow and brown stained the crotch of Hagan’s pants. Urine and the choking stench from offal drowned out the scent from the man’s spilled fluids; the reek increased by the day’s lingering heat.

  From the evidence in the area, Hagan had died without a fight. Jagged wounds along his torso looked as if giant claws had shorn through his body, similar in many ways to those found on the bodies discovered the last few weeks, but the damage was too great to be sure. A lump formed in Ryne’s throat. Oh, Ilumni…Carnas.

  Dying sunlight glinted from the village’s thatch and wood roofs poking out just above a dip in the plains. Fingers clenched around his sword, heat swelling within him, Ryne took a step toward Carnas. Sakari’s iron grip on his arm stopped him.

  “This is not like you, acting with your emotions rather than your head,” Sakari said with more than a hint of nonchalance.

  Snatching his arm away, Ryne pointed at Hagan. When he found his voice, it came out as a strained hiss. “That’s someone we knew. A man I considered a friend. In that village are the only people I held dear since the day I woke. We’ve known them for years, and you act as if all is well. Do you feel nothing?”

  “No.” Sakari’s eyes were dead pits of silver and green.

  Ryne quivered, his hands balling into fists against the sudden urge to stab Sakari. It would be pointless. Sakari acted no different now than the first day Ryne woke to his unflappable and expressionless face. Whether during the wars or the many killings they were party to over the years, the man had never showed a single emotion. Why should I expect anything different? With a great whoosh of breath, Ryne let his half-drawn great sword slide back into the scabbard.

  “Look around you. And not with only your eyes,” Sakari said.

  Ryne reached out to his Scripts.

  “No. You do not need those or Mater right now. Think. What if there are as many wraithwolves as Jaecar said? What if they are still close by?”

  He’s right. How could I let myself become so overwrought that I almost made such a mistake? Relying instead on his innate talent to see the auras around Carnas, Ryne studied his surroundings. Blue and red orchid blooms covered the plains in clusters, their stalks swaying to the warm southerly wind. Unnoticed before, but now prevalent, was a faint whiff of char. The occasional tree and large thorn brush broke up the expanse of flowers on the rolling landscape all the way to the foothills in the distance, their shadows beginning to elongate with the rising twilight. As Sakari had said, Mariel no longer followed them, but something else was not quite right. Ryne couldn’t grasp it, but it hung like a dark shroud at the edge of his consciousness. His eyes narrowed.

  “Do you see now?” Sakari whispered.

  Ryne nodded. “There aren’t any animals. No plains lapras, no brown-furred holehogs, no stray dogs. No pheasants or other game birds. I don’t even sense the vermin. Worst of all there aren’t any crows and ravens. At least they would keep the dead company.”

  Ryne’s gaze drifted across the land, but he saw no aura that could be a wraithwolf. Sure he was safe from detection, he finally opened his Matersense.

  Immediately, his bloodlust surged within him, burning with intense fire, screaming for release. The feeling threatened to overthrow his dominance. Arms trembling with effort, teeth grinding, he forced the emotion and the voices down into his gut until they became nothing more than a whimper. As he grasped control, his sight expanded.

  Everything around him intensified. Colors became deeper, auras more vivid, and the very air felt as if he could mold it to his will. Yet, the Mater close to him was all wrong. Usually the elements felt and looked as if they were etched into the air with razor-sharp edges. Now, those lines appeared dulled like an artist’s drawing with smudged borders. Ryne shook off the distorted image, focusing on Hagan’s corpse. A low gasp escaped his lips.

  Shade’s taint boiled within the innkeeper’s body akin to a roiling black ant’s nest. The black and gray hues of the essence poured from his open mouth, nose, and ears. It riddled the massive wounds on his body. Recoiling at what he saw next, Ryne lost his hold on his Matersense.

  “He has no life force-no sela.” Ryne’s mouth hung open, his voice becoming a barely audible whisper. “Even in death the essence should be there.”

  “Exactly,” Sakari confirmed. “Life and death cannot be separated. Something ate Hagan in more ways than one.”

  “A daemon?” Ryne’s forehead wrinkled.

  Sakari shrugged. “Perhaps. If there were as many shadelings as Jaecar mentioned, then we should consider that a possibility. We must be cautious.”

  “But that would mean there has to be a Skadwaz to unleash and control the creature.” Ryne’s hand slid to his sword, wary gaze flitting to the shadowy areas on the plains.

  Sakari nodded.

  Ryne shook his head in disbelief. “How’s that possible if they were trapped in Hydae a thousand years ago?”

  “If we listened to every legend then you are dead or just a myth. And shadelings and daemons too. Yet, we know they exist, as we know you live. Unless someone else has learned how to harness daemons, we must assume the worst.”

  Ryne closed his eyes and allowed his friend’s words to sink in. Events were rapidly spiraling beyond anything he imagined. When he opened them again, he unsheathed his sword. A quick stroke removed Hagan’s head.

  Amuni’s Children, shadelings, and now daemons and the Skadwaz. He could see how the Svenzar could have been defeated. But it still begged the question. If the Children ran with daemons during the Remnants, if a Skadwaz worked behind the scenes, why wait until now? Why not unleash their powe
r with the Setian people during the Shadowbearer War? Nothing the Children had done made sense to him. No matter how he viewed the puzzle, the answer eluded him.

  He motioned for Sakari to lead, and they eased away from the corpse, staying low, moving from bush to rough grass. Along the way, they encountered several other bodies. These too lacked signs of a defensive fight, and all were scouts they recognized. Every corpse was mangled, and each one crawled with shade and had its sela essence drained. Ryne cut off their heads.

  They continued toward the village, first crouching, then dropping flat on their stomachs and crawling through short grass until they lay below a small dip in the land behind some thick fescue. Using the brush for cover, they studied the village.

  The wooden wall surrounding Carnas was broken in several places. Squat buildings huddled together along the main road with a few roofs hanging at precarious angles or caved in altogether, burnt timbers and broken beams unable to support them. Those buildings not burned were left in shambles.

  “I shall venture for a closer look and make sure the way is safe,” Sakari said.

  Before Ryne could reply, the man was sliding into the surrounding brush. With a shake of his head, Ryne watched. He didn’t need his friend’s protection, but Sakari insisted. Long ago, Ryne had abandoned his attempts to tell the man he was not his personal bodyguard.

  While he waited, Ryne immersed himself in the sights treasured by many who lived on the Orchid Plains. Distended gray clouds reflected the setting sun’s tenuous glow in purple and orange, the light brushing the plains like an artful masterpiece. To the south, out of sight at the end of the plains’ thousand mile stretch sat the Misted Cliffs and beyond, the Sea of Clouds. He once promised to take the children and the sisters to visit the sea. The trip might never happen now.

  Sakari returned before the clouds crossed more than a few feet across the sky. “The village is clear.”

  “Have you seen anyone alive? Kahkon, Taeria, Vana, Vera?”

  Sakari shook his head.

  “Corpses?” Even as he asked the question, a lump crawled into Ryne’s chest.

  “Yes, a few to the east and south. All the same way as the others we found, but none were those you asked about.”

  A sliver of hope eased through Ryne. Maybe Bertram had managed to get the others away.

  “The scouts and hunters I found all died before they could react,” Sakari said.

  The words drew prickles across Ryne’s skin as he remembered the golden-haired woman had moved without any of the others seeing her. After scanning his surroundings with utmost care, he motioned for Sakari to lead the way.

  They stood and trotted toward Carnas. Ever vigilant, searching for the slightest movements that might signify life, Ryne fingered his sword. They found nothing but the dead. Two more corpses they passed were blackened by flames, but Ryne recognized them still-Dren and Keevo. Both bodies contained no sela. Saying a brief prayer to Ilumni, he also took their heads.

  After circling the village, they approached Ryne’s home first. The structure had been razed, so they continued moving. They headed toward Taeria’s home next. Along the way, any buildings still intact displayed broken doorframes or windows with doors and shutters hanging askew, creaking in the wind. Inside the mender’s house, they found dried blood, old bandages, and the ransacked contents of the healing room. Of Taeria and Kahkon, there was no sign.

  Nothing living moved within the village. No dogs barked, no chickens pecked, no ducks waddled, and not even the abundant tame pheasants clucked along the streets. Deserted roads and burnt homes continued to taunt them, their windows and entrances dark gaping holes like the eyes and mouths of blackened corpses. They found more charred bodies in a few homes. Other houses stood empty. A hint of moldy fur, of decayed flesh, threaded the air within the homes not burnt.

  They came upon Vana and Vera’s house. No flames scarred it, but the door hung off the hinges. A black cloud of flies buzzed in and out of the open doorway. Taking a few apprehensive steps, Ryne entered. The unmistakable reek of rotting flesh hit him.

  The sisters lay splayed on the floor with their feet and hands nailed to the wood. Their faces were sickly, black and red messes, battered in such a way they did not resemble themselves. Bile rising in his throat, Ryne squeezed his eyes shut against the sight of their naked bodies. Before he could think, he was stumbling back outside, retching. His arms trembled, fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly, and his eyes filmed over as if a red sheet covered them. He dared not touch his sword. He bent over, his hands against the wall, and sucked in several drawn out breaths until he managed a seething calm.

  Eyes lifeless sockets, Sakari just watched him, saying nothing. They moved on.

  At Carnas’ southwest end, they found Lenka, Malka, and Denton, bodies riddled with gashes. Trampled grass spread for miles-signs of an armies’ entrance into the village. How had this army reached here so fast and coming from the southwest instead of farther northeast? And if they had shadelings, where were the creatures now?

  With each new body, a pattern became clear to Ryne. The wounds bore too many similarities to those found on the murdered men from weeks ago. Whatever weapons or power used to kill those men near the kinai patches had been used to kill Carnas’ inhabitants. Now he knew this army had been scouting Carnas for some time. And neither he nor Sakari had known of their presence.

  Hope diminishing with the increasing death count, Ryne trudged on. The chance of finding a single survivor became a fleeting wish whispering on the wind. Outside the homes without bodies, they found dark, russet splotches and streaks that signified a dragged body. There, the malodorous odor of unwashed dog fur and rot were strongest. Every spot they found like this pointed toward the village square.

  With night upon them, and storm clouds brewing overhead, Ryne gave in. “Let’s head to the green.”

  They followed the main road toward the middle of the village. The dried blood splatter and drag furrows increased, scuffmarks and gouges pointing their way towards the village square in trails of dust and dirt. A faint smell grew stronger as they ventured nearer. With the wind blowing the opposite direction, they had not smelled it before. After a few more feet, the odor clung to the air with a stench similar to what they encountered within the sisters’ home multiplied a hundredfold.

  Ryne strained against the urge to run to the plaza. Along with the smell, there came a sound. A buzzing as if a thousand bees flew close by. The corpses became visible before he entered the square.

  “No. No,” he whispered. “Dear gods, no.” Ryne ran.

  The distended bodies looked no different to logs or firewood stacked on top of each other. They littered the area by the thousands. Men, women, and children. Not one was spared.

  Large, black corpse flies swarmed the bodies. Not a single body contained any sela essence. Whatever ate the other villagers had gorged itself here. Congealed blood covered the ground as if a river of blood once flowed from the green. Bile bubbled unbidden within Ryne’s mouth.

  Ryne attempted to approach the corpses, but Sakari held him back. “No, master. There is nothing you can do to help. Going too close to so many consumed by the shade may taint you.”

  Shuddering, Ryne slapped Sakari’s hand from his shoulder, the control he realized he’d found in the Nevermore Heights splintering. He opened his mouth to speak, but he could find no words, and the scream he tried to release came out as a hoarse croak. He collapsed to his knees before sitting, eyes staring sightlessly.

  Everything he cared for had been ripped from him. Pain stabbed his heart like an Alzari’s blade. The malevolent voice whispered delightful revenge, beseeching him to reach for the Mater around him. The second voice muttered and moaned while his bloodlust attempted to soar up from the pits where he’d thrust it. Drops of blood pattered to the ground from his hands which were curled into vise-like fists. Like a drowning man clutching at a floating log, he clung on, knowing if he surrendered, there would be no controlling t
he craze to kill when it rose.

  Ryne’s vision grew bleary. Wetness trickled down his cheeks and before he could stop himself, he was sobbing uncontrollably, his face contorting with grief. He’d clung to hope for so long that this eventuality overwhelmed him.

  He didn’t know how long he sat there with his eyes closed. When he opened them, night had fully come. The colossal twin moons stood high to the east, lighting everything in silvery-blue, dark clouds steadily encroaching on them.

  Ryne stood and was surprised to find his legs steady as he strode to the large shed close to the square that held the firewood the villagers had collected. One by one, he took wood and stacked it in the square around the bodies. Each log bore bloodstains from the small punctures his fingernails had inflicted in his palms. He could care less if he somehow became tainted. These were his people, and they needed to be sent off to the gods in the proper fashion. They deserved at least that much. Numb to the occasional splinters digging into his skin, and the weight on his shoulder, he labored on.

  Every trip to the green brought different feelings bubbling to the surface. At times, his eyes filmed red, and he burned inside. Other moments, his shoulders slumped. A chill crept through his body as he imagined what they must have felt in their dying moments.

  He couldn’t help heaping the blame for the massacre on himself. Maybe if he lived a different life before he settled in Carnas this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe if he hadn’t answered the summons he could’ve saved them. Maybe the souls of all the people who died at his hands had cursed him. Did he commit some other great atrocities in his past life-the life he couldn’t remember-which warranted such punishment from the gods?

  His thoughts shifted, and he laid the blame at the feet of Amuni’s Children and whatever shadelings committed these terrible acts. They will pay for this in blood. And if he found out Mariel or the golden-haired woman were involved, they too would pay. His ponderings went on for hours before he stopped and studied the firewood piled around the bodies and decided he had collected enough.