Storm Kings (Song of the Aura, Book Six)

by Downs, Gregory J.

  “Just do it, for Aura’s sake,” Gribly snapped, but it was in fun. Something seemed to be flowing easier between the two of them now.

  Gramling drew himself into a wide-spread, fight-ready stance. His back was bent slightly, his eyes closed for focus. Gribly figured that in a battle, it would have to happen quicker than his twin was demonstrating. He made a mental note to work on speed.

  Gramling’s arms rose, pushing out before him like the slowly spreading wings of a bird. His hands made claws, and he slowly drew them inward. When his elbows were bent, his hands nearly clasped at his chest, and his eyes shot open. A bright spark jumped between his palms.

  White-yellow liquid fire surged from his hands, lashing out like the tail of some monstrous sea-beast… but far more deadly. The sand it engulfed superheated, igniting and spitting globs of seared material in every direction. Gribly reacted from instinct, throwing up a hardened sand shield to protect both him and Gorgoris. The rushing, thundering sound continued on, and Gribly turned an eye to the old Kinn.

  “If this’s how much Gramling- or I- can do… How did you ever escape Sheolus on your own?”

  Gorgoris’s eyes glinted with the memory of suffering. “The Aura must have blessed me. I tried to lead a small group of survivors away, once we realized… that… we had been betrayed. Most of them paid with their lives, while I suffered nothing more than a bloody arrow through the knee. It wrecked havoc on my Striding… never healed properly. Without the surge of power we’ve all felt as the Day of Norne approaches… I don’t know.”

  Gribly nodded, sympathizing. That was what everyone, even the Aura, seemed to be saying these days. I don’t know.

  The heat beyond his shield dissipated, and Gribly let it drop back into the ground in heat-glued clumps. Gramling was walking towards them, a self-righteous smirk plastered on his face.

  “Did you catch that, Brother? Or were you… ah… hiding your face?”

  Gribly snorted. “Stand back,” he said, and they did.

  He stepped forward, rehearsing what he’d noticed. He’s Spirit Striding, but channeling the Power of Spirit through the part of him that usually controls Stone Striding. So it’s a combination… in a way… He closed his eyes, and prepared. For almost a minute, he just stood there.

  “Anytime soon?” Gramling asked.

  Suddenly Gribly threw his head back, eyes open, and raised his hands to the sky. The spark jumped between them, and the Fellspark roared into life, painting the air above him with a white-hot swathe of light and energy. It was larger than Gramling’s, easier to control, and he hadn’t scorched his comrades.

  He hadn’t just learned the method… he’d perfected it.

  “Maker of Machines!” Gorgoris swore. Gramling just laughed.

  After a time, Gribly let the Fellspark die, eyes watery after gazing on its light for so long.

  “That good enough for you?” he asked Gramling.

  “More than.” His brother couldn’t seem to stop grinning. “But as much fun as it is to melt sand into glass… I don’t think this will help us destroy Goldenmount.”

  “Of course not,” Gorgoris admitted, drawing closer so that the three formed a rough triangle at the center of the destruction wrecked by the two Fellsparks. “But that is not the essential reason I called you both out here.”

  “Then… what is?” he asked.

  Gorgoris had a dangerous gleam in his eye as he explained.

  “To break apart an entire mountain, much less one that houses the Legion’s prison… it will require the strength of giants, Stone Striding such as has not been seen since the ancient days of the first Striders. But that is possible, now. All the Striders in the world have felt their power increase, this you know. So I believe that the way to victory lies in one of the oldest, strongest recorded Strides in the history of the Kinn.”

  From beneath his voluminous cloak, Gorgoris produced a dusty, cracked yellow scroll. He handed it to Gribly, who opened it carefully, confused, and showed Gramling. “I don’t understand,” he said at last.

  The scroll bore a series of sketches, diagramming what looked like three Kinn men Striding. Beyond that, though, it made no sense. The sketch-men appeared to be working together to build something around themselves… perhaps a shield of some kind… or… a statue?

  The silence was broken by a muttered oath from Gramling. Gorgoris looked smug.

  “What?” Gribly said, peeking over his brother’s shoulder.

  “I didn’t think… impossible… but…” Gramling seemed to be having trouble forming coherent thoughts, so Gribly turned to Gorgoris.

  “What’s he mean?”

  “He suspects the truth,” Gorgoris answered cryptically. “He sees in the drawings the mighty combat bodies of the Ancients… the first to hold the Old Beliefs and worship the Creator… the first to be taught Striding by the Aura themselves.”

  “Wait… do you mean…” Gribly looked back at the drawings, feeling a sense of awe.

  “Exactly,” Gorgoris completed the thought for him. “Stride Giants, Avatars, Titanic constructs formed from the elements, shaped around the bodies of their makers, for protection… and power.”

  Gribly’s jaw dropped open, and Gramling shook his head in disbelief. “Is it possible?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so,” Gribly murmured, “but I also jumped onto a Wood Demon’s head the other day.” A realization struck him, and he turned to Gorgoris again. “That’s what these were made for, wasn’t it? The Ancient Striders probably had to deal with even more demons than we do… so they invented these… these things in hopes it would give them a fighting chance!”

  Gorgoris only nodded. Gramling, though, frowned, handing the parchment back to Gribly as he addressed the shaman.

  “This ability would give Gribly and I an enormous edge over any other Striders… and maybe even let us match Sheolus, strength for strength… but how do you know it works?”

  Gorgoris smiled dangerously, “Because we’ve already done it.”

  He raised his shepherd’s crook in the air, speaking a line in the kinntongue. Thunder rumbled in the cloudless sky, and the ground shook.

  “It’s a summons,” Gramling told Gribly, as the brothers stepped warily back.

  “That’s just wonderful,” Gribly muttered. He Strode Sand to keep himself level on the heaving ground.

  Beyond the three Striders, a mound of sand began to rise, pushing out from the desert floor, growing higher and taller with every moment. Soon they could see it was roughly human-shaped, formed from churning sand and soil, with a lumpish, featureless head, long, thick arms, and short, powerful legs. It reminded Gribly uncomfortably of the various demons he had fought over the course of the last months.

  When it had climbed totally out of the pit where, he assumed, it had been hiding, the clay-like thing raised its blocky fists to the sky, then let them fall to the sands with an earth-shuddering pound. Gribly punched a fist downward, anchoring his portion of the ground, and the shockwave rippled past him through the sands.

  “What have you done, Gorgoris?” Gramling shouted. The thing had fallen silent, and his voice echoed across the dunes.

  “They mean you no harm,” the shaman replied. “Look again!”

  They did. Gribly opened his mouth in silent exclamation… through the swirling shell of the Stride Giant, he could actually catch glimpses of three Stone Striders, continually moving their bodies in order to keep the sands flowing. The massive form was at least thirty feet tall… the full implications of such a Stride began to sink into his mind.

  Three Striders of the same element, working together perfectly. They’re holding themselves up, armoring themselves, and holding the false body together, all at once. Their visibility is limited, meaning they’ve got to be at least partially sensing their surroundings with Striding itself… much like Elia. His thoughts ended there, as he desperately tried to ignore any thought of what he had lost… or was going to lose.

  “Good, goo
d,” Gorgoris motioned with his staff towards the Stride Giant. “You may return to the tower, my apprentices. Your task is done.”

  For a moment, the Giant seemed to sway… then it fell apart in a shower of sand, leaving only three rather-shaken looking Kinn men behind. They saluted their shaman and turned to head back towards the broken tower.

  “Transytes?” Gramling questioned. “I didn’t think there were any of them left.”

  “There are… more, now.” Gorgoris said, uncertainly. “So close to the Day of Norne… many unexpected things have happened… and will happen, I am sure.”

  Gribly gazed off into the distance, digesting all that had happened… and he knew. He needed no drawings, no map. He could do it alone.

  Without warning, he reached deep into the Power of Stone. Striding was as much mind as motion… that he had learned from Lauro. So with Stone, he shaped the world around him; and with Spirit, he channeled the power of the Otherworld into himself, slipping in and out of the physical realm like a fish that leaps from the stream.

  His power increased tenfold. Light shone from his every pore, and sparks danced in his vision.

  Gribly Strode.

  He felt the sands rise up around him, obeying his mental command like never before. He held an image in his mind: a towering, fifty-foot avatar, built around him from Stone and Spirit. Its flesh would be glittering, altered sand, like he had made so long ago over Old Murie’s grave. It would be a towering monument to her sacrifice… the sacrifice that had set him on this path.

  And it would bear the shape, as close as he could make it, to Traveller… his guide from the very beginning.

  Blood rushed to his head. Sand whirled around him so fast he felt heat from its passing. He raised his arms, tilting back his head with eyes shut tightly, letting Striding be his vision and his hearing, his touch and his smell. The Powers of Stone and Spirit filled him at once, and gravity tugged at him as his enormous Stride Giant formed around him, in seconds.

  “Holy…” he heard Gramling say, but the rest of the words were drowned out as the elements bent out of alignment and into his chosen vision.

  Then all was silent. Gribly opened his eyes, slowly, and found himself hovering in the midst of swirling light and glittering, diamond-like sand. He could see through to the world beyond, partially with his eyes, and partially with his Striding. Hearing worked much the same way, though words were extremely hard to understand.

  He turned his head, and the Stride Giant mimicked the motion. He was in what would roughly be its chest, cocooned in a safe bubble of air as the sands swirled around him. It was the strangest and most invigorating sensation he had ever felt.

  Incredible, Brother. You’ve done it. You’ve actually done it. Sheolus will never be able to stop us now.

  Gramling’s thoughts bore no awe in them. Gribly felt flattered at the praise… the uncomfortable truth was that Gramling was usually the better Strider, in almost any facet of the craft. He replied in like manner.

  Thanks. But you’d better hold on tight… it’s your turn now.

  Chapter Twelve: Melodia Ultem

  The command tent’s interior was damp and drafty, dripping on all edges from the violent rain that had suddenly decided to pour out over the Lost Walls camp. The warm droplets steamed when they hit the ground outside. Lauro could see it through the space where the door flap hung open, swinging listlessly in the downpour.

  He stared through the darkness, wishing it would stop. So much had happened. He needed rest, needed solace… but there was none for him now. A king had no one to go to, when his friends had abandoned him. His hurt, angry thoughts chased themselves in circles, as they had again and again in the past days.

  They’ve gone to fight him alone. They’ve abandoned us. They’re going to die. Who knows if that’s even they’re plan? They could be running. Gramling could’ve killed Gribly and dragged his body away. The Prophet has abandoned me. My friend. Gone. What’ll I tell the men, when they find out? I can only keep up this façade for so long. They’ve started to doubt my word, that I sent them on a mission.

  And Traveller hasn’t appeared since then. Could he have gone with them? Has the Aura abandoned us, too?

  It was a puzzle with no answer. Lauro had driven south as soon as he had discovered the tragedy. If he was to die in battle, he wanted it to be worth something. So the Remnant would attempt to take back Vastion, even if it meant certain destruction.

  A muffled squishing came from outside the tent, as someone navigated the wet ground, and the silhouette of a man darkened the canvas. A shaking, soot-blackened hand pulled the flap the rest of the way back, and Captain Bernarl entered.

  “King Lauro.” The nymph bowed slightly, stiff with exhaustion, and Lauro waved him to a nearby barrel top, where he sat.

  “Thunders, Berne… don’t call me that. It’s bad enough that it’s true.”

  The nymph just hung his head, pushing damp hair out of his eyes and pulling his voluminous coat a little closer, despite its wetness. “You… received my message?”

  “Yes,” Lauro said simply, looking out into the rain again. He did not want to look at what was in Berne’s hand, though he could guess.

  “Lauro?” The king turned, and Berne showed him anyway. It was Gram’s hammer. “He told me, just ‘afore he left us. It’s the key to killin’ Clockwork Demons. We’ve… we’ve got a chance now. Aside from your own sword, that is.”

  Lauro’s hand went to the handle protruding from over one shoulder. Ker’junas. He had used it many times. The bloody demons were coming every night, and there seemed to be no end to them.

  “I thought no one but a powerful Stone Strider could hold it?” he questioned. Anything was worth saying to ignore the fact that Gram had died. Even if… they hadn’t always been on the best of terms.

  “Thought so myself, at first.” Berne sounded rueful. “But when he was gone… the life seemed to go out of it. Still works the same… but not as powerful. It’ll kill a demon, but you’ve got to smash its head in for a while, ‘til it dies. Not the same… not at all.” Lauro knew he wasn’t talking just about the hammer.

  “Ah, well,” the rogue captain continued, “At least we’ve got some real protection against the demons now. The clerics we rescued are fair prodigies… when they’re not bein’ chased by a demon dragon. They say they can study this hammer, and develop Spirit Strides to kill the demons quicker.”

  “Gribly knew how,” Lauro said quietly.

  Berne looked, if possible, even grimmer than before. “’Tis true, then?” Lauro just nodded. “Blast.”

  Lauro smiled, slightly. “You always know what to say, Berne. Which is why… I’m naming you as the new Lord of Rogues, in the absence of Gram or either of his sons.”

  Berne shrugged. Lauro supposed he’d known something like it was coming. “The other rogue lords might resist,” was all he said.

  “They won’t. Not enough. The rogues are too few, and too disheartened, to put up much resistance.”

  “As are we all,” Berne remarked. Lauro didn’t bother to correct him; it was true, anyway.

  “You’ll keep the hammer, when the clerics are done studying it,” Lauro said. “It’ll mark you irrevocably as their leader. Now that Arlin and Marvol are dead, the rangers have fallen directly under my command. That puts you and me in charge of the two remaining factions of free folk.”

  “Soldier and Rogue, marching back into their own land, in one last attempt to free it.” Berne smiled. “I like it. Sounds worthy of a song, it does. The Song of Storms. The Song of Vastion. What do you think?”

  Lauro nodded, grim. “The last Song of the last War. Let’s hope at least one of us stays alive long enough to have it written down, eh?”

  “Aye.” Berne’s eyes fell once more to the hammer cradled in his hands. “But then there mightn’t be anyone left to hear it.”

  ~

  Two days. The Day of Norne was almost at hand. In the broken tower, Gribly and his brother le
arned all that they could, perfecting the creation and use of Stride Giants.

  Evening came, and found Gribly perched near atop one of the walls, staring off into the sky. Strange, how the clouds did not cover this one spot in the Golden Nation, this one remnant of decency and hope.

  He would never see Elia again. Even if this plan worked, Ashen had said he would die.

  Gribly stood suddenly, peering out into the vast, sandy expanse. It looked devoid of life… of soul.