Etchings of Power (Aegis of the Gods)

by Simpson, Terry C. ; Wilson-Viola, D Kai; Ordonez Arias, Gonzalo

  Without another word, Sakari started out across the Orchid Plains at a slow jog with Ryne trailing after him. Halfway across the plains, Ryne glanced over his shoulder.

  A small figure moved away from Mariel’s camp in the distance behind them. For the first time, Ryne realized this trip provided him with a great opportunity to be rid of the woman.

  Lightning flashed and highlighted Mariel’s form as she headed in their direction. Heartbeats later, thunder rumbled its defiant response and rain began to patter to the ground. The long awaited storm arrived.

  CHAPTER 11

  Ancel marveled at the ebb and flow of the battle between the two men in the distant city. Dear Ilumni, I beg you, let your light bring victory. As the prayer crossed his mind, he licked his suddenly dry lips, before taking a quick glance around him. Calm down man, stop jumping at shadows. Yet, here in Hydae where the shade held sway he couldn’t help the fluttering in his stomach.

  At that precise moment, citrine and emerald lightning skittered across the banks of char-colored clouds drawn to the conflict raging in the city. The flashes made Ancel’s gut lurch, and he gritted his teeth at the sky. Why was he here on this forsaken ledge exposed to the angry elements?

  Ancel’s loose-fitting clothes flapped about him as the winds howled and swirled like a crowd decrying some terrible act before a revolt. Eddies snatched at his cloak in an effort to fling him from his rocky perch high above the vast black plains and forests. He took a slow breath and forced his stomach to near silence.

  Elemental power continued to roil across the sky as if the gods of Streams and Flows battled for supremacy. Ancel could imagine them and their fear inspiring visages clad in the finest armors, only their sparkling eyes showing through slits in their helms.

  On one side, there would be Ilumni and Amuni wielding light and shade representing the elements of Streams. Ilumni’s power resonated in the lightning flashes and in the wan afternoon sun. Amuni’s taint bubbled everywhere, from the foliage below, infected and decaying with his shade, to the darkness choking the air. Even the sun appeared diminished in Hydae.

  On the opposite side, Ancel pictured the twin gods of Flows lashing out together; their power sending prickles across his skin as if he stood naked on the ledge. Aeoli commanded the void, using the air itself to form the storm winds. Hyzenki paired with his sister in the fight, breaking the thunderheads to make water join the fray. Black rain pelted down before howling winds whipped the drops sideways like arrows shot from a million bows.

  A loud, piercing chime echoed from the city like steel screeching against stone. Something metallic flew into the air, Mater shooting from it in sparkling glows. The winds, rains, and clouds swirled into a gigantic maelstrom above the city—.

  A sharp tap on Ancel’s head knocked him from his daydream.

  “Ancel!” shouted Teacher Calestis, drawing her slim staff back.

  Ancel shook his head as his eyes focused on his surroundings. The expectant gazes from the Teacher and several students of varied ages, from youthful like himself to wizened and bent-backed like Calestis, greeted him. Mirza leered at him from his bench across from Ancel, his gray eyes a reflection of his expression. Besides the benches filled with students and the Teacher’s chair and table, the only other furniture in the room were a few bookshelves. Two windows in the yellow brick walls looked out onto Eldanhill’s cobbled streets.

  Teacher Calestis rapped her staff into the floor with a dull wood on wood crack. “If Nerian the Shadowbearer was a Devout—a priest bonded in heart and soul to Ilumni—why did he forsake the Lord of light and answer the shade’s call? Why did he turn to Amuni?” Several students raised their hands, but Calestis ignored them all. “Ancel,” she said, pointing a gnarled finger and scowling, “This question is yours. Since the Teachings bore you so much, you must know all the answers.”

  “He was misled into believing his people were betrayed and massacred at the Tribunal’s command. He convinced himself the Skadwaz had somehow crossed from Hydae and delivered Amuni’s power to him. Blinded by rage, he sought revenge, resorting to the use of shadelings,” Ancel answered without hesitation.

  Galiana’s golden eyes twinkled. “And how did he persuade the remainder of those loyal to the light to follow his lead.”

  “By the sword. However, a few did support his cause willingly, convinced of their retribution. Those who resisted were forced to fight or die. Once many saw Nerian could stamp his name in history as the first to reunite the world and return Ostania to its former glory, they accepted his rule. They ignored that he now wielded shade and all its horrors to do his bidding.”

  Calestis gave him a small smile. “Well done.”

  As soon as Calestis’s attention shifted elsewhere, Ancel allowed his thoughts to drift back to his daydream. Why did he keep having these images of a land that existed only in the stories? What city was that with its sparkling spires and streets lined with colonnades and fountains? His dreams the night before had also included the green-eyed beasts and the kinai rotting in their glen. What were those creatures? Could they really have been wraithwolves? He’d thought about approaching Teacher Calestis, but his father’s warning prevented him from doing so. Ancel sighed. He wished he had someone he could confide in. Ever since Irmina left Eldanhill, he dreamed more often than before. Without her to talk to, little made sense.

  Thoughts about Irmina made his gaze drift to Alys Valdeen in time to catch her soft eyes regarding him. Her hair shone in as deep an orange as a brilliant sunset. Her eyes glittered, and she sniffed, turning away from his gaze.

  “Thinking about Irmina again?” Mirza’s voice broke Ancel from his thoughts.

  Ancel glanced around at his friend and saw Teacher Calestis had dismissed the class. Students headed to the doors, laughing and chatting amongst themselves, most happy to see the end of another day of learning.

  “Something like that,” Ancel finally replied. “I wonder what she’s doing now. Did she complete her training? Did she pass the test? If she would at least write—”

  “You would go running off to wherever she is,” Mirza quipped. “Or try to. Even if she was somewhere across the sea in Ostania.”

  Ancel shrugged and stood.

  “You know, you piss me off sometimes.” Mirza shook his head, his unkempt hair, the color of dirty red bricks, spilling about his shoulders. “I mean, you’ve been blessed to be with two of the prettiest girls in all Eldanhill and you moon over Irmina. The girl was as rough as any soldier. Me? I prefer them soft and supple like Alys.” Mirza’s gaze followed the girl who was now just leaving with a few friends.

  Ancel’s lips twitched. “And here I was thinking you had no preference at all. We both know even one of the old apothecaries or retired Shin like Teacher Calestis would please you, wrinkles, warts, and all.”

  Mirza stared at him, aghast. “I know Irmina addled your brains, but I didn’t think you lost all your senses. Here, let me run call Alys for you, maybe she can make you feel better some.” He made to run after the girls.

  Ancel snatched at the arm of Mirza’s beige coat. “Don’t you dare.”

  Mirza grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

  They were the last to leave the building used as the Mystera’s main study hall. Bright afternoon sunlight greeted them accompanied by a breeze from the snow-capped Kelvore Mountains. The mountain range stretched as far as the eye could see to the north in this part of Granadia. No sooner had they stepped outside when ham-sized hands snatched Mirza at the door and twirled him as if he was a dancer at a ball. A body built like a draught horse, deep and broad of chest with legs that could be two of Ancel’s came into sight as Mirza tottered away in the opposite direction. Ancel burst out laughing.

  “I hope you’re ready to spin the girls and dangle them on your knees.” Danvir Bemelle slapped his big hand on his thigh as Mirza stumbled to a stop. “We’re leaving this evening to deliver the kinai wine.”

  “What?” Ancel’s eyebrows rose and
his lips curved into a smile.

  “Yes, my Da convinced yours he should let you go. He said it was best for your nineteenth naming day not to coddle you anymore.” Danvir tilted his head as he regarded Ancel with eyes of burnished copper, the one feature that might make a person overlook his bulbous nose. “Although, I’m not so sure. You still behave as if you’re pining away to me.”

  “Wooo,” Mirza said, finally regaining his breath. “Taverns, wine, women, and song.” He rubbed his hands together. “Here we come. Oh, and yes, he’s still mooning over Irmina. As usual, he was lost in class.”

  Danvir grunted, and rubbed at his oversized ears. “Did the old bag clip him on the head again?” He straightened his coat back into position, running his hands down the sleeves and nodded with satisfaction.

  “You know it.” Mirza chuckled. “Then somehow he managed to answer a question about Nerian the Shadowbearer without missing a beat.”

  Danvir let out an exasperated breath while combing his well-oiled, blond hair back until it fell neatly at his shoulders. “That nonsense again? I still don’t understand why we need to study history anyways. What does it all have to do with becoming a Matus.”

  “Well,” Mirza began, “you know what Calestis always says—”

  The three youths looked at each other and grinned. “Becoming a Matus is not just about touching the elements of Mater that reside in the world around us,” they recited in their best all-knowing imitations of their Teacher. “Becoming a Matus is to learn from the Ashishin before us who have wielded Mater unto their own demise like the Skadwaz. After all, Mater is more than just the elemental force that resides in everything and drives our world. It drives all worlds. Just as present action dictates our future, so does history dictate our present.” They all burst into laughter afterward, Mirza’s gaunt face going red, and Danvir’s guffaws making a rumble in his broad chest. Tears streamed from Ancel’s eyes.

  “At least the seats you took up in my class have not been a total waste of space.”

  Ancel jumped at Teacher Calestis’s voice, his laughter coming to an abrupt end. His two friends gave the bent old woman wide-eyed stares. Calestis drew herself up straight, her golden eyes stern, and tapped her staff on the cobbles. The youths all began stumbling over themselves with apologies.

  “Nonsense,” Teacher Calestis said, waving a dismissive hand, “I do tend to ramble on, but you three have remembered an important piece of your training. So, I will let you have your moment.” They all breathed easier. “However,” she continued, “Should I have any issues from you in class at any time, your parents will be informed about you making fun of the Teachers. A disrespect well worthy of a chore penance I’m sure. Now off with you.”

  Given a reprieve, they didn’t wait to have it withdrawn. They scampered away, heads held down.

  Ancel glanced over his shoulder once to see Calestis shambling off in the opposite direction. He was tempted to run after her and tell her about the creatures and what he suspected. Coming to a swift decision, he turned. Before he could take a step, a hand grabbed his arm. He looked around to see Mirza.

  Mirza shook his head. Ancel had wondered how his friend could act all day as if nothing happened. Now he saw the truth. Mirza’s slate-colored eyes bore the same concern as his, but somehow he did a better job of hiding it. Ancel nodded, and they followed Danvir who was in the process of righting his clothes again after the short run.

  They travelled along Learner’s Row, and its multitude of buildings, practice areas, and side streets packed tightly together where Teachers held classes and lectures for a variety of arts. The dense gathering of structures often made the Mystera appear to be a miniature village within Eldanhill. Ancel often wondered if the other Mysteras in other towns and cities were similarly built.

  Weaponmasters, bearing the Lightstorm insignia on their breast, drilled soldiers in enclosed spaces between the buildings, each practice area large enough to hold two hundred men. In other sections, Teachers practiced Materforgings with students, teaching them how to grasp the essences and direct earth, fire or light in various applications from lighting a torch to opening a pit in the ground. Yet others taught more mundane tasks like cooking to more advanced like apothecary and alchemy.

  The students walking ahead through the Mystera were mostly dressed in earthy yellow or beige uniforms, the men in tunics and pants, and the women in dresses that stopped below the knees. Soldiers stood with chests puffed out among them in their deep blue garb, golden shield and sword pins shiny upon their breasts. Ancel’s eyes shone with admiration as he watched them strut among the students. The Teachers kept to the other side of the Row, most striding with a purposeful gait in their pristine white robes.

  Ancel noted the vast majority of students still bore the book and pen insignia stitched or pinned onto their breast or shoulder denoting them as novices. Remembering when he once displayed the same, he smiled and fingered the silver sword on his lapel, puffing himself up with thoughts of his promotion to trainee. With the memory, a longing for Irmina flashed through his mind. He touched his breast pocket.

  A step away from a Matus. One more step. Then I’ll earn the right to petition a Weaponmaster to be trained as a Dagodin. He smiled inwardly with the thought as his dreams swept away to a more ambitious status. A Dagodin so I can graduate from the Mystera and study either in Calisto or at the Iluminus to become an Ashishin. Then I’ll join the Pathfinders. No one will be able to stop me from finding her then. His smile grew wider.

  “You know, I would hope that look meant you’re eyeing some new girl,” Mirza said, his lips pursed. “But knowing you the way I do, that’d just be wishful thinking on my part.” He sighed as Ancel offered no reply. “Hey Dan, who’s escorting us with the delivery?”

  Danvir’s eyes twinkled and his mouth twisted into a slow grin. “Headspeaker Valdeen.”

  Mirza cackled. A groan escaped Ancel’s lips. The last thing he needed was to be in the company of Alys’ father especially after what happened the evening before.

  “There’ll be several guards coming with us to help protect this year’s delivery because of the recent feuding between us and Doster. Maybe—”

  “You know, Dan,” Mirza interrupted. “You always say us when you speak about Sendeth, but—”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” Danvir retorted. “I swear you listen to your father too much about how they treat us. We pay taxes and tribute to King Emory regardless. And the whole of Whitewater Falls belongs to him, Eldanhill included. Whether we’re far north and behind the King’s back as people like to say, it doesn’t matter. We pay all the same. Think on it.” Danvir gave Ancel a sidelong glance, his annoyed expression changing to a grin. “Anyway, as I was saying, maybe Ancel can huddle with the soldiers so Master Valdeen doesn’t get to questioning him about his plans for his daughter.”

  “My chances of avoiding that man are about the same as us running into Dosteri raiders,” Ancel grumbled. “Slim to none.”

  “Well, I’d suggest you make nice with Alys before we leave then,” Mirza said, making a humping motion.

  Danvir chuckled, clapping Mirza on the shoulder hard enought to make him stumble.

  Ancel ignored his friends, staring off toward where the girl rounded the corner off Learner’s Row onto Henden Lane on her way home. The end of the Row split into several streets that meandered through this side of Eldanhill before they met the Eldan Road. Houses great and small, all sandstone or brick with tiled roofs, painted in white shades or dull yellows lined the roads. The citizens of Eldanhill bustled about the streets, busy with their preparations for the upcoming harvest celebrations. For a moment, he thought about hurrying after her before he changed his mind.

  “He has more women on his mind than he knows what to do with,” Mirza’s distant voice said.

  Ancel stopped walking. His friends stood a few feet behind him both acting as if they did not see him.

  “Happens to the best of us,” Danvir quipped, “or so my Da sa
ys.”

  “Does this mean we’re better than him?” Mirza nodded toward Ancel.

  Danvir rubbed at his clean-shaven chin, his face feigning seriousness. “I don’t know, maybe he just needs a class in how to love them and leave them. Let them do the chasing. Maybe, you and I…”

  Ancel couldn’t take anymore. Yelling, he chased after his friends as they ran off laughing.

  CHAPTER 12

  Ancel and his friends spent the better part of the next hour startling numerous merchants and townsfolk along the cobbled streets. Most were lost in preparation for the Soltide festival or busy hawking their wares.

  Those who recognized them swore to tell their parents or chased them with brooms and switches. Their fun and nuisance making finally stopped after the town watch became involved. When they saw the gray uniforms advancing down Market Row onto Thanairen Square, they snuck off through one of the many back alleys crisscrossing Eldanhill. A short while later, they parted ways, and Ancel headed home.

  As they did every year for Soltide, his parents had chosen to stay at their four-story townhouse in Eldanhill rather than their sprawling estate at the winery farther north. His father preferred to be close to his business dealings this time of year. Not that Ancel minded. He enjoyed being in town for Soltide rather than among the kinai orchards or watching his father instruct the workers in the correct methods of kinai juice distillation.

  Ancel skipped down Damal Way past matching houses with their oval, stained glass windows, sloping, tiled roofs, and double doors that appeared as if the architects modeled every home after the first one built. Flowers in full bloom among the well-tended gardens added splashes of color to the otherwise bland white paint of the brick edifices.

  Old man Finkel stood outside his home, tending his roses. When he saw Ancel, the man’s eyes narrowed.