As it did, his energy was now much stronger than he had ever felt it, his own ahmaean now swirling in colors he had never seen or imagined.
He felt something new in his mind, like a shifting, though not painful as it had been before. This time, it was gentle. Awareness came to him as he felt a part his consciousness previously closed to him, now open.
Alyta sighed, and he looked up. A knowing smile curled her lips, and she nodded at him. “Now he is damahne.”
Raime stood frozen, staring at Jakob. His eyes were ablaze, and the fire seemed to leap from them. “What is this?” he screamed. His voice filled Jakob’s mind. Raime looked to Alyta, and she smiled. “What have you done?” Raime hissed at her. “What have you done?”
She ignored his questions and look at Jakob. Her blue-green eyes caught his, and she smiled again. “I… thought… so,” she whispered.
“Why?” he asked.
“No time. Focus your mind,” she told him, her musical voice labored. “Use the new part of your mind.”
She took a slow breath, and he wondered how much longer she had.
“Accept it. It is there.” With the words, she fell silent.
Raime stood before him, eyes angry. “You would steal from me?”
He replayed the words Alyta had said, trying to understand. He was aware of a part of his mind now, a part he had only glimpsed before. Jakob focused his thoughts, trying to do as she had told him, and felt that new part of his mind open to him, and could reach it if he tried.
Raime stretched his oily ahmaean toward Jakob, reaching out with black tendrils. It moved slowly, and Jakob jerked back, away from it, trying to avoid it touching him. He feared what would happen if it touched his ahmaean.
Accept it.
The voice was whispered in his head.
How?
You can feel it. Let it guide you.
He needed to end this with Raime, needed to do something to help Alyta, bring her back, give strength back to her. And for answers. Did he have enough time?
Raime’s tendrils of ahmaean were nearly upon him. The High Priest’s face was a flat mask of anger that Jakob felt radiating from him. “No Mage steals from me!” he roared.
Jakob shook his head, some understanding coming.
He did not know what he was but knew he was no Mage.
He reached out toward the new part of his mind, calling to it, and it responded, coming alive. His ahmaean was familiar, but changed. It was stronger, filling his whole body with the sensation, almost vibrating him with waves of energy within him. He let himself feel it, let it grow within him. As he did, a new awareness came to him, a new sensation.
Jakob reached out with his mind, touching the new part of his consciousness. He could feel his ahmaean, could manipulate if he tried, could stretch out with it, rather than simply drawing it in. His ahmaean responded and pulsed in response.
The dark tendril from the High Priest was upon him.
Jakob felt it touch him, cold, deathly cold, and felt an emptiness sink into his heart, his mind. It called to him, telling him to give up, to give himself over to the High Priest. That sense of hopelessness filled him as it had before at the hands of the Deshmahne. But this time, the power of it was overwhelming, and Jakob found himself giving over to it.
“Fight it, Jakob Nialsen!” Anda called.
Her soft voice stirred him, shaking him.
Anda?
She was saying something more, but he could not hear it.
Who is Anda?
The question came from a voice in the back of his mind.
She is nothing, you are nothing.
Jakob sank into the hopelessness again, drifting, drifting, until he no longer remembered where he was.
He felt a touch on his hand, light at first, soft, and he ignored it. There was no point in fighting. The High Priest had won.
You are nothing, the voice reminded.
Yet the touch did not leave him. Instead, it stretched up his arm, sinking into him. He thought he had known it once, but did not remember.
It is nothing, the voice told him. Give yourself to the Deshmahne.
And he would. He knew he would. What other choice did he have? What could he do against the power of the Deshmahne?
Nothing, because you are nothing, the voice reminded.
Yet still, there was pressure on his hand, on his arm.
It pushed upward, toward his mind, and met resistance. He felt a struggle and knew it was useless. He was useless. The pressure on his mind receded, and he knew it was lost.
Give yourself to the Deshmahne!
So he did. He felt something flowing from him, a slow trickle at first, and it burned. He did not know what it was he felt, only that he had no other choice.
You are nothing, the voice reminded, give yourself to the Deshmahne!
The flowing from him began to hurt, a cold agony. There was nothing he could do to fight it.
The pressure remained in his hand, his arm, and now was settling into his chest. It warmed him in waves. Wave after wave of warmth hit him, filling his legs, his arms, and finally working up into his head. He knew this feeling, had felt it before.
It is nothing!
Anda?
Anda’s touch had once warmed him like this.
She is nothing! You are nothing!
No, he knew. Anda is not nothing!
The flowing from him slowed, an agonizing burning as it did, before halting.
Give yourself to the Deshmahne! the voice demanded.
His body trembled, and he was filled with pain, a thousand needles stabbing through him.
No! His mind cried the answer.
He was suddenly aware of his body, all of it, and remembered who he was.
Jakob called to the unmasked part of his mind and felt his ahmaean. He shook his head, clarity slowly returning.
It raced through him, filling him, and he stretched it before him, pushing away the tainted ahmaean of the High Priest’s touch. Where his ahmaean touched the High Priest’s, it was like a blow to Jakob’s mind.
Steeling himself, he pushed.
The High Priest’s fiery eyes widened.
Jakob pushed harder, forcing his ahmaean out, pushing back whatever Raime had done. The tendrils of Raime’s black ahmaean slid away from his pressure, forced away from him, back into Raime. It inched back slowly.
Anda squeezed his arm, and he felt peace.
With the peace, an idea came to him, a different kind of understanding. The key wasn’t in pushing Raime back, he realized. Stretching out, he tried something new. He kept the pressure on what he could see and feel of Raime’s ahmaean but stretched out again from his own pool of energy.
His mind answered, the pulsating of it within him, and he could feel and see another strand come forth from him. It reached Raime, and Jakob let it drop, as if to cut away the ahmaean tendrils the High Priest had sent out.
Jakob felt his narrow band of ahmaean as it reached Raime’s, felt resistance, and pushed, tearing the black tendrils from him.
Raime screamed as the ahmaean came loose. It floated freely for a moment, hanging like a dark cloud, before dissipating into nothing and disappearing. Jakob pulled his own ahmaean back to him, afraid the same would happen to him.
Suddenly, a dozen more thick tendrils of ahmaean pushed out from Raime. They moved quickly—more quickly than the last time—forcing Jakob to react.
He sent out a barrier, protecting himself, and the thick ahmaean beat uselessly on the wall Jakob created. Again and again, Raime pressed his ahmaean upon Jakob, each time uselessly.
Raime screamed and rushed at Jakob.
He was fast.
If Jakob had not honed his reaction time by working the sword with Endric, he was not sure he would have survived. As it was, the High Priest hit him with an open hand before Jakob managed to pull at the new part of his mind, pushing out with another wall of his ahmaean.
Time slowed.
The High Priest
froze as he rushed him, as if running through water. A strange light came into the man’s eyes, and his jaw clenched as it worked to speak. Jakob ignored the High Priest, focusing on his ahmaean, understanding that it was the High Priest’s strength.
Dark ahmaean still flickered, snaking toward him. Waves of hopelessness and despair came with it as it flowed around him, but he recognized it now and ignored it.
In the clarity and heightened senses of his ahmaean, he noticed something different, something unexpected. He saw something about Raime’s ahmaean he had not seen before. Before he had seen only a thick black fog, now he saw smaller shapes within it. They vibrated with their own energy, flickering and dancing throughout the fog of ahmaean.
It wasn’t just the haze of energy that had these smaller shapes. They were within the High Priest himself, and he saw how their energy held him together.
Jakob reached out with his mind, grasping at these small energies. He could almost feel them; they seemed individual physical entities.
Pulling back, he held them within his ahmaean as he had with the ahmaean of his sword. Raime reacted with agony and fear, and Jakob felt an onslaught of pressure against his mind.
He did not relax.
The fire in the High Priest’s eyes flickered a moment before dimming. Raime thrashed a few more moments, a slow spastic kick that nearly connected.
What effect did pulling at the energy have on Raime?
There was a frantic resistance to the energy Jakob had trapped.
And Jakob felt it slipping. His control over the ahmaean he had acquired was incomplete. What would happen if the High Priest recovered?
Jakob probed with his ahmaean, feeling the energy around him, that which was worked into the stone of the Tower itself, and pulled, using the massive amounts of ahmaean from everywhere around him.
Suddenly, the resistance faltered, and the High Priest crumpled to the ground.
A sharp pain shot through Jakob’s head, between his eyes, and he released the borrowed energy. The pressure eased, and time snapped forward again.
On the table, Alyta struggled, her breathing labored. A pained expression painted Alyta’s face. She was dying.
Anda stood over her, tears coursing down her cheeks from wide brown eyes.
As he ran to Alyta, he still felt what he’d pulled from the High Priest trapped within his mind. It vibrated within him, as if begging for release. He glanced over and saw the High Priest still in a heap, with his cloak swirled around him, and released that energy. His mind tingled as he did.
He ignored it and turned back to Alyta.
The chains still held down her legs and arms, and he looked up at Anda. Anda touched the chains at Alyta’s wrists lightly, and they dropped quickly to the ground. Walking around to the end of the table, she did the same with those at her feet.
“I use the last of her energy,” she explained. “I do nothing but guide it.”
He nodded, not truly understanding.
Alyta lay silent, her breaths shallow. She had little time left. He gently took her shoulders and helped her to sit. She smiled as he did.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You are,” she started, struggling with each breath. “More than I had hoped. More than I had dreamed.”
“What am I?” he asked, uncertain.
Anda took his hand, and relaxation washed over him.
Alyta nodded, eyes sparkling as she seemed to read his thoughts. “You will have your answers,” she told him. “I think I have time for that.”
Epilogue
“I am glad you came,” Alyta told him, a little more strength coming to her. “And you,” she said, turning to Anda. “Brohmin did well bringing you both to me.” She glanced toward the spot where Brohmin had fallen.
Jakob turned and saw that where Brohmin had fallen, there was now only a dark pool of his blood. “How?”
“He was once only a man, but he served us well and was rewarded. He will serve us still.”
“After what happened, how can he still live?”
Alyta smiled sadly back at him. It reached her blue-green eyes, and they seemed to reflect her sorrow. “He was given the same gift I gave to you. It allowed him to serve longer.”
It explained much. Jakob had known that Brohmin had some abilities, but not what they were. Knowing that he’d been giving power from the gods, it explained how he had seemed almost a Mage. It explained how he had been able to battle with Raime, if only for a short time.
“I am sorry we came too late,” Jakob said.
Alyta reached out her hand to him. “You were not late.”
“It wasn’t enough. We weren’t enough.”
Alyta laughed lightly. “You came with the key, and you used it as was needed. Neamiin was the key I needed. A guide.”
“That’s what Anda told me,” he said. “But what does it mean?”
She paused to catch her breath before answering. Every word was hard, every sentence a battle for breath. “You, like Brohmin before you, are a Uniter.”
“The nemah?”
“Perhaps. Time will tell. Know that in times of great struggle and destruction, a Uniter was found. The person could restore the balance, could protect that which cannot be seen.” She breathed hard with the effort of speaking. “The Magi have called them the peace bringers, and that is true enough, but they fail to recognize the truth of the fibers.”
She fell silent for a moment, and Jakob looked over to Anda.
Alyta took a slow, ragged breath. “All people have many paths before them,” she went on. “They choose to travel whichever path suits them, growing into the path that is their life. Each Uniter’s path led toward peace.”
“And me?” he asked. “What of my paths?”
She ignored the question a moment. “The last Uniter chosen by the Conclave was given a gift to help him. It was a weapon gifted with the ahmaean of both damahne and daneamiin.”
The words stirred within him a memory, a vision, one that had come to him while he was within the house of the Cala maah. His sword, Neamiin. Anda had told him that daneamiin had sacrificed for the sword, but not damahne.
Jakob looked over to his sword, still buried to its hilt in the wall. “In the Cala maah, I saw Niall given the sword.”
Alyta nodded. “Yes.”
“It has been in my family,” he started again.
Alyta nodded. “For many years, your family has guarded it. The Conclave has thought it lost.”
“And my paths?” Jakob asked.
“You confused me at first, but you gave me hope as well.” Her eyes locked on his. “Your paths lead to peace or…” she trailed off.
“Or what?” he asked.
She did not answer.
“Or what?” he asked again.
“Or to nothing,” she finished. Her voice was quiet.
“Nothing? What does that mean?”
“I do not know, but I suspect it’s why Raime sought you.”
“So I can either bring peace,” he began, “or nothing?”
“Difficult paths,” Alyta told him. “Neither easy.”
“Am I the nemah? Brohmin seemed to think that I was,” he said.
“You are a Uniter, but you are also much more than I could have dreamed,” she said, sighing. “You are like me.”
“How is that possible?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“I had not thought it possible, yet… after everything, I should not be surprised. Long ago, the damahne, the daneamiin, and the humans all intermixed. It was rare, but these mixings took place.”
“I saw that in my visions.”
“Yes. These mixings produced the Magi,” she answered. “Their abilities are nothing more than a dilution of what you and I and Anda have.”
The idea made a strange sort of sense. “Then how can I be like you?”
“I think the fibers finally brought together the right mix of what was needed. And you were born.”
“How did you
know?”
“I wasn’t sure until I sent you my ahmaean.”
His eyes narrowed. “What would have happened had you been wrong?”
“It has been a long time since I felt the birth of a damahne. It is a disturbance along the fibers, and subtle. I had hoped, but could not be sure. Perhaps I had been mistaken. For years, I have searched and found nothing, leaving madness in my wake.” She paused a moment. “When you grabbed my wrists, I felt your ahmaean, your energy, and it added to mine. Only another damahne could do that.” Her blue-green eyes focused on him. “And I knew.”
“What did you do?” he asked her quietly, suspecting.
“I did what has been done for ages,” she answered. “A dying Damahne passes to another.”
“You had so much ahmaean. How could you be dying?”
“Raime did something, but my time was near. Better that you inherit the ahmaean. It belongs to the damahne.”
“The markings?” he asked.
She nodded. “An evil. Were it that he never learned that trick.”
“But Salindra had them and was healed,” he said.
“It’s different for the Magi. My healing would cost the lives of countless daneamiin. Many before me have passed their ahmaean onto me,” she told him. “I chose to pass it all onto you.”
“We would have healed you,” Anda said.
Alyta looked at her sadly. “I know you would. I could not let you pay that price.” Alyta turned to Jakob. “You have had visions?”
Jakob nodded. “Dreams. Some so real I thought I was there.”
“Some I have sent you. I am sorry for that, but my need was great. The rest were not dreams. You have walked the fibers of time to see the past. It is what you are, what you will become.” She labored a moment for breath, and Anda’s face darkened with worry. Alyta brushed her off. “Thank you, Anda, but I still have some strength in me. As you grow stronger, Jakob, you will be able to step into the past, take yourself along the fibers to the past.”
A memory of being in the heart of the Great Forest, of being Shoren, came to him. He remembered how he felt as though he was losing himself, as if he was becoming the man. He remembered waking frightened. Another time, he faced the groeliin, tearing a hole in the ground with his thoughts.
Tower of the Gods (The Lost Prophecy Book 3) Page 30