by Simpson, Terry C. ; Wilson-Viola, D Kai; Ordonez Arias, Gonzalo
No other invitation was needed. Ancel raised her ever so slightly and suckled on the curves of her neck. Her pulse became a fluttering bird beneath his tongue. His lips slid down until he took one nipple in his mouth. A moan escaped her throat.
The warmth of their bodies built to a transcendent heat as he nibbled her succulent flesh, his nips increasing to bites, and her moans growing louder and more breathless. She arched her back and neck until he could no longer feel her heavy breaths against his ears. Her eyes opened, glazed in ecstasy. Their gazes locked, and she smiled warmly. She drew his head to her, and they kissed long and deep, their tongues playing against each other. The feeling was sweeter than cold water on a blazing day.
Her hands slid down his body, below his waist. Ancel arched his back. When their flesh entwined, his world exploded.
Their lovemaking became a blur of gyrating hips, moans, gasps, and digging fingernails. In the water, his strokes became effortless. When he climaxed, it was as if he saw the world through a new light.
He opened his eyes, and a ragged moan tore from his throat. Colors bloomed all around him. Everything appeared more alive than ever before. Reds were deeper, blues darker, pinks brighter. On and on the hues swirled about him across every living surface.
Whites, grays, and browns wavered around Kachien herself.
Ancel gasped as another release shuddered through his body. His eyes snapped closed against his new sight. When he opened them, all was normal.
Kachien’s hand stroked his face. “Are you well? You look like you saw a spirit.”
Ancel nodded. He was so caught up in the throes of what just occurred words refused to rise to his lips.
“I told you, I would teach you how easy it is to float,” Kachien gloated, flashing him a naughty smile again.
“That you did,” he finally managed, his voice hoarse.
“Come, let us go to the field and sun ourselves.” She unwrapped herself and waded toward the shore.
Ancel closed his eyes once more and drew in a deep breath. Usually, after lovemaking, he would be spent. But not this time. He felt rejuvenated as if he could run hundred miles without pause. He swam after Kachien.
She reached the shore and rose from the water, her shift clinging to her curves. The material was so thin it made her appear naked. He visualized every nuance of her body beneath his touch and hardened again. With a great effort, he willed away the picture, and his arousal subsided.
When he left the water, she had already picked up her dress and was heading up the hill in her swaying walk. Her hair fell behind her in wet tresses, dark gold in the sunlight. Despite its thickness and length, it did little to hide the myriad thin white scars across her back.
Ancel watched her for a moment more before he grabbed his clothes and followed. Charra padded after him.
At the hill’s crest, Kachien flattened a patch of grass big enough for both of them. She placed her dress down and stretched out on her back like a tan and gold fox basking in the sun. Ancel joined her.
“Something happened out there,” Ancel said, as he stared at the wispy clouds littering the cerulean sky.
“You think?” Kachien said with mock offense as she played with the charm around his neck.
Ancel turned his head to find her peering into his face. “Seriously. I saw something unusual. It’s happened before, but I never thought of it until now.”
Kachien frowned. “What did you see besides my nakedness?”
“It was as if every living creature shone with color. Too many colors to count. In my Mater training—” He cut off at Kachien’s gasp.
“You can touch Mater?” Kachien stopped twiddling his pendant and sat up, her eyes wary.
Ancel paused for a moment. He had not intended to let his Teaching slip. But near Kachien, he didn’t feel the need to keep secrets. “No. Not yet. I can sense it around me when I open myself. The world comes alive when I do. This was like touching my Matersense but different.”
Kachien hugged her knees. “When I lived in Ostania, my people, the Alzari, could do these things with Mater. They were among the first killed by the shade in the War of Remnants.” A shudder passed though her body. “There are many among us born with this curse.”
“It’s not a curse,” Ancel protested. But the pain etched on Kachien’s face spoke on its own. She’d spoken about losing everyone she knew before, but she’d never been this specific. “Matii help the keep the world safe. It’s a great honor in Granadia to become one. It’s them who saved Ostania during the same war you speak of.”
“I know this. It is why I choose to live here, despite how some of your people look at me. But still, we were taught to touch this Mater was a curse. The idea was whipped into us. It is a hard thing to make myself think otherwise.”
Ancel brushed his hand down her face and shoulder then down her back. Her scars were smooth stripes below his fingers. Kachien’s eyes closed. She shivered at his touch.
“Was that where you received these?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“Why? Why whip you like this?”
“So we would not forget. My people believe your feelings bring out your power. Our Formist gods were said to feel the turnings of the world through their emotions. It is only through their control that kept the world from tearing apart or so our priests say. Those among us cursed to touch Mater had to show the same control. Everyone had to take the trials, and they included beatings in order to bring forth the most primal emotions. If you could touch Mater, it rose in you then.” A tear trickled down Kachien’s face.
Speechless, Ancel wiped the tear away. In her eyes, he saw the truth of Kachien’s pain, and in her voice he’d felt a touch of sorrow the depths of which he couldn’t begin to comprehend.
“I should have asked you if you were one such before I touched you in the ways I have,” Kachien said, her voice apologetic.
“No. You didn’t need to. I wanted you more than anything else I’ve felt in a long time.”
Kachien shook her head. “It is you who do not understand. We were taught only those who could control their emotions would be allowed to wield Mater. They were given no choice but to complete their training.” Although she sat beside him, her eyes said she was a thousand miles away. “If they failed in this, they were killed before the madness took them. Our histories show those who escaped the culling. The suffering they later brought has become legend. They killed and destroyed without care, forever a slave to the power burning within them. They were called the Deathbringers.”
“How did Materforging drive them mad?”
“We believe there are three things necessary to make one a Matus. First, your body and mind had to be like…a…a…No, that is not the right word.” Kachien’s shaped brows drew together.
“A conduit?” Ancel offered.
“What is that?”
“It is a pipe or channel allowing something to pass.”
“Yes. A condooeet to your sela so Mater on the outside could touch within.” She frowned at Ancel’s smile to her pronunciation. “Then, you had to be able to store enough essences. A man who couldn’t store any but could still sense the elements would become a warrior fighting with divya. A Binder, similar to your Dagodin.”
Ancel nodded to show he understood. What Kachien was saying was not much different from what Teacher Galiana taught.
“The second requirement is there must be enough emotions within you to Forge as you people say. Without the emotions, nothing happens. Sela, your soul, and your feelings are all connected. The easiest way to tap into your sela and touch the Mater without is through your feelings. The more powerful the emotions, the more you can do. But your ability also depends on what you can store. Once spent, time is needed to regain enough essences to Forge. If you use up your sela, you die.”
“And the third requirement?”
“Control. You have to control your emotions in order to command Mater. Within yourself, your sela rests in a calmness calle
d the Shunyata. That is where you must thrust all you feel, and call upon those emotions only when you wish.”
“We call the same thing the Eye of the Storm. I use it in sword training,” Ancel said.
Kachien’s lips pursed before she continued. “My people believe the essences are living things. They seek lives. If you lose dominance of your emotions and give in to your power’s whispers, you will kill and feed them. Once you have chosen to appease the essences with a life, there is no return. You are lost forever like those caught in the thirty-two winds, doomed to kill and kill until the power drives you insane, shrivels your soul and you die.”
“Deathbringers,” Ancel whispered.
Kachien nodded. “In the books of our Formist worship, it is said this is what happened to the Eztezain Guardians of old. They then broke the world. A man or woman who could store, touch, wield Mater and above all force the power to succumb to their will through control can become a Matus. One who cannot is considered born dead. To prevent another culling of the world as is foretold, my people kill any who lack control.”
The thought of such a ruthless way of thinking made Ancel cringe. “But if the essences are alive, and you use Mater to kill, how would you not feed them?”
“You place the whispers from the power and your emotions into the Shunyata. Once trapped there, the essences cannot feed off your kills. This is what some call battle bonding. However, the essences do feed off your sela so you can only hold them trapped for so long before you are forced to release them. If they have fed enough in the Shunyata, you will no longer feel the lust to kill. This is a delicate balance.”
There were subtle differences between what he learned and Kachien’s explanation, but Ancel understood. He tried to reassure her with a smile and squeeze of her hand. “You don’t have to worry about me. Or about someone killing me. We have our own tests, but nothing as brutal as your people. No one is taught how to touch Mater without passing the trials for control.”
“What about those who fail?”
“They become Dagodin. The chance of their power surfacing is sealed away.”
“And those who touch Mater on their own accord without control?”
“There aren’t any such people among us.” Even as he said those words, Ancel’s brow knitted. Surely, there were those who touched Mater without the use of the Mysteras. Those who never had any training of any kind. Why hadn’t he ever considered the possibility? Although being born with an affinity to Mater was a rare event, how was each person located?
“I see even to you, this does not make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t. Kachien, if you cannot sense Mater, why’d they put you through the trials?”
Her eyes became slits. “As I said before. All were forced to take the Trials of Sight. It was the only way to be sure of who was born with the power. Any who tried to leave without taking them were executed. I do not doubt if in secret something similar happens among your people.”
Ancel opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn’t find the words. There were too many questions spinning through his head to which he had no answers.
“Please, Ancel.” Kachien gave his hand a squeeze. “Promise me you will complete whatever training you have undertaken. You have made a special place in my heart. I do not think I can stand another loss.”
Ancel found no ways to resist her pleas even if he wanted to. “I promise.”
“Good,” Kachien said, her entire face brightening. “Now, let us speak of more pleasurable things. Where do you intend to take me today?”
Ancel smiled. “I’ve plans for a tavern with the best Granadian food you’ve ever tasted. There’ll be curried goat, roast piglet, fish basted with a sauce that is both sweet and spicy all at once—”
“Will there be music?”
“Yes. I hired a harper.”
Kachien’s eyes widened. Ancel’s smile broke into a grin. She’d shared how much she enjoyed the music of the harp.
“Come, then,” Kachien said, jumping to her feet. “Let us get dressed and go. This way I can spend much time listening and kissing you while he plays before I return to work tonight.”
Ancel froze in the middle of rising to his feet. His chest tightened with the idea of her work. The idea of other men touching her body.
“Oh, Ancel,” Kachien whispered near his ear. “It is only a job. No one can make me feel as you do.”
Despite her soothing words, a lump of jealousy remained as they made their way to Randane.
CHAPTER 19
Pain pounded in Ryne’s head like an incessant hammer slamming onto an anvil. His eyes fought his attempt to open them. With great effort and a groan, he managed to will the pounding into a dull throb.
Soft leaves cushioned one cheek. What felt like a damp rug stretched under him, and sweltering air greeted him with both fresh and moldy smells. Jungle sounds clamored all around him. From the scratching of some forager, to the rustling branches caused by animals traversing trees, to the howl of a hunting forest lapra, all conspiring to increase the throbbing in his head once more.
He reached a tentative hand to his shoulder. The leather belt for his scabbard was gone. Not that he needed confirmation—the sword was near enough he could still feel it. His eyes fluttered open. He was not surprised when his vision showed he was no longer in the mountains. Great evergreens with smooth trunks and widespread canopies towered over a hundred feet into the air. An occasional beam of morning sun broke through the covering. The Mondros Forest, then.
Ryne sat up among a smattering of leaves. Undergrowth starved for sunlight bunched around him in a tangled, multicolored mass of flowers and choking lantum vines with heart shaped leaves.
Sakari sat on a gigantic root a few feet from him. He now appeared as a typical Western Ostanian with black hair and sunburned skin, his face all sharp angles and planes. He’d resumed a more powerful build with broad shoulders and thick arms, and his faded trousers and cotton shirt matched the trees and forest. What remained of a long dead fire nestled where the trunk and roots met.
“How long did I sleep this time?” Ryne asked.
“You have been in and out for a week.”
Ryne shook his head and shrugged. He’d become accustomed to the unexplained loss of consciousness over the last few years. Whenever he woke, he would have vague memories of dreams during his stupor. Yet, try as he might, he could never grasp those dreams beyond the sight of him shrouded in light.
“You can finish the drink I fed you during your sleep.” Sakari gestured toward a waterskin near the coals. “And I roasted a rabbit.” The animal rested on a smooth stone still spitted.
“Did you eat any?” Ryne smiled at Sakari’s impassive face. When he saw no answer was forthcoming, he stood. The leafy carpet sunk under his feet as he walked over and picked up the waterskin and took a sip. Pleased to see Sakari had kept some kinai juice, he took an even longer drink. He wasted no time in tearing the spongy flesh from the rabbit limb by limb.
When he finished eating, Ryne removed the leather cord from his ebony hair, brushed back loose strands, and retied the string. A quick look at a rustling brush revealed a slim forest lapra with leaves growing from parts of its body, no doubt drawn by the food scents. The lapra dipped its head to one side and slunk among the shrubbery.
“How deep in the Mondros are we?” Ryne asked.
“A few miles. Something about the Nevermore Heights made me uneasy.”
Ryne raised one eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched. “You…had a feeling?” The blank stare he received from Sakari in response almost made him burst into laughter. He shook his head at Sakari’s lack of humor and picked up his sword. A sense of calm passed through him with the feel of the glyphs etched into the hilt. “Is Mariel still following us?”
“No. Not since I set the rockhound after her. Maybe it caught her.” Despite the change in Sakari’s appearance, the same flat monotone laced his words
“Unlikely. She’s been too cautio
us for an animal so simple.” Ryne unsheathed his greatsword and inspected the blade before placing it back in its scabbard and slinging the leather strap over his shoulder.
“Time to head home?” Sakari asked.
Ryne nodded. With a smooth leap, Sakari hit the ground and took the lead. The ease with which Sakari moved made it appear as if he followed a path carved ahead of them. They avoided the vines and bush, never having to hack their way through.
Questions about Halvor’s words rose within Ryne’s mind. What is it I already know? If I knew who I was, I wouldn’t still be searching. How could the gods march? They were all trapped in the Nether, locked away for millennia by their own power according to the legends. Who is this person who will show me the answers I seek? Could it be Mariel? No, Halvor said, he. His thoughts drifted to the Svenzar’s defeat. Who or what among Amuni’s Children could have been strong enough to defeat the Svenzar?
Ryne shook his head in an effort to clear his thoughts, but they continued to swirl through his mind in a never-ending cycle. His pondering only made his head throb more. Too many years with too few answers weighed on him.
Almost two hours in, Sakari raised his hand. Ryne stopped. Around them, the forest noises dwindled into silence. A branch snapped.
Sakari took off toward the noise. Brown and green darted among the trees ahead of him. Ryne followed.
The colors resolved into a man who slipped among the trees with uncanny speed. His aura matched the forest, pure and clear.
Ryne kept to the path Sakari wove, tree trunks and vines flashing by as they pursued. A forest lapra flanked them with its nose pointed toward the man who fled.
Battle energy surged through Ryne with the chase, and his heart beat faster. His headache faded with the rush. He allowed himself to feel the trees around him. Every obstacle became clear, and he bypassed them all, gaining on the silent man. Something about the man’s movements bothered Ryne, but try as he might he couldn’t discern the source of his discomfort.