Magnus shook his head, suddenly turning bitter. “Not by half. But this is for them. They didn’t deserve such a death. They at least deserve someone to mourn them.”
Song Wei and Bai Feng gestured to Magnus, and the mage stepped forward, holding his wand out over the remains, lighting his own magefire. “Dearly beloved, Brothers and Sisters in the Creator, may you find peace at the Creator’s side in the Realm of Glory and Light. May your faith be strong, your honor pure, your compassion boundless, your wisdom infinite, and may your freedom be everlasting.”
Chapter 25
First Light
The ship Gallienus had fitted for Matthias and Magnus was a sturdy galley, with two rows of oars and a towering mast with a vast, triangular sail. Bai Feng, his retinue from the consulate, and Song Wei joined them along with a small complement of Gallienus’ guards. They filed on quietly and launched just before the dawn.
The funeral left everyone in a somber mood. Matthias soon found a spot on the bow of the ship, holding fast to the prow as he peered over the edge at the rolling waves. He couldn’t stand to be kept below deck, not after his last trip across the sea. At least here, the spray of seawater and the bracing wind in his face reminded him he was free. As night rolled back, however, the light of dawn was nowhere to be seen. The sky was covered by iron grey clouds, as a chill wind blew over the waves.
“The captain is wary,” Bai Feng said as he approached Matthias. “The clouds don’t bode well; he fears we’re sailing into a storm.”
“Then we sail into a storm. We’re going home, as fast as possible.”
“What do you plan to do once we arrive?” the Ambassador asked.
“We kill Cyril,” the warrior growled. “We show no mercy and cut through whoever stands in our way.”
The Jaoren chuckled. “You sound like Kazan. I think he would like you, if circumstances were different.” He paused, studying Matthias. “But just how do you plan to accomplish this? No one man can fight an army and the frightful magic Cyril now commands.”
Matthias grunted. “We’re getting an army of our own. We’re sailing south, beyond Fopsorian lands. Spring brings the Great Moot, when all the Altani tribes join in one place to plan alliances and raiding territory for the year. I was to represent my tribe before all of this happened. But it had been planned long enough in advance that I know where we’re going.”
“How do you expect to win over them to our side? I have heard nothing good about the Altani.”
The hulking man cast a frown at the ambassador. “And just who told you about them? Cyril?”
“A fair point,” Bai Feng conceded. “But do not rest all your hopes on these brethren of yours. We can’t be certain.”
“You know nothing of battle, Ambassador. Nothing is certain. Not anymore.” Matthias sighed, turning away from the Jaoren and looking back over the waves. “I was taught to thrive in the chaos of battle. No strategy is foolproof. And when all your plans fall apart, the only thing to do is fight your way out of it. No clever tricks. No plans. Just you and the enemy.”
Bai Feng wanted to say something more, but thought better of it, preparing to stay in his cabin for as long as possible to ride out the storm. Matthias’ brooding presence was enough for the rest of the crew to leave him be, which suited him fine. The warrior knew he could not will the ship to go faster, but he was determined to stay at his post as long as possible, until he could see land. Until he could see his last chance to put things right.
The clouds gathering overhead only intensified, soon growing darker as evening rolled in. Matthias grimaced; he had rarely seen a storm of such intensity. And then the rain began. The water fell on them cold and hard, and the ship’s crew pulled in the galley oars and securing what supplies they could. Repeatedly, they warned Matthias to get below deck, but he ignored their pleas. Weather would not drive him from his post.
“Matthias!” Magnus’ voice carried over the rain and gathering wind. The short man was hugging himself against the blasts of sea air, his curly hair slick with rain. “What are you doing?”
“A little rain does not concern a warrior,” he replied brusquely. “Go hide in the dark hold if you wish, but I will not.”
Magnus frowned, sighing. “Matthias, you don’t have to do this.”
The warrior said nothing in return. Magnus nodded, stepping closer to the bow of the ship. “Fine. Stay out here, but you won't be alone.”
Matthias’ hard gaze softened, and although he still said nothing, he exchanged a look of gratitude with Magnus. They both stared out at the rolling sea, the gathering storm beginning to buffet the sides of their ship, rough waves slapping against the hull and growing in intensity. As time wore on and the storm worsened, Matthias’ resolve was battered as he stared out at violent swells of sea water, slamming into each other like moving mountains, but something else was growing in him: the familiar rush fury. This was yet another obstacle in their way; another enemy he could not fight. As lightning blasted across the iron sky, he roared back at the rolling thunder.
“Is that all you've got?!” the warrior bellowed, beating his chest.
“Matthias?” Magnus moved to place a reassuring hand on his friend, but was quickly pushed off. He shouted over the howling winds, glancing nervously over the rolling waves. “Maybe we should find cover after all!”
“No!” Matthias pointed up to the sky. “The Creator’s the same as the Altani gods, a cruel, vicious bastard!” He beat his chest again, calling out to the storm as the rain pounded down on him, soaking him to the bone. “Come, strike me, if you’re there! You let Cyril win, and now you throw this pathetic spring rain at me, as an insult!” Matthias, his face twisted with anger, spat out at the sea. “Face me! Don't hold back now!”
Magnus latched on to the warrior, half afraid he would jump into the ocean. Another bolt of lightning struck, smiting the water near their ship, the brilliant electric flash leaving an ominous smell in the air.
“Have you lost your mind? It’s wind and rain, not the god of all creation!”
The hulking man ignored his friend, still shouting out at the storm. “Show yourself! You let me become a killer, you made me strong—and you tested me, again and again! You denied me everything but fighting and killing, and then denied me the chance to fight. I demand my honor be restored!”
“Matthias!” Magnus stepped between Matthias and the edge of the ship, gesturing to the rain. “This is not the Creator! This is all just sound and wind—it’s nothing.” The mage shot the warrior a steely glare. “You’re doing nothing but risking both our lives. And for what? Do you honestly think the heavens will open up for you if you shout loud enough?”
“I…” Matthias trailed off, his breathing quick and his whole body tensed as his anger lapsed. “I—I don’t know!” he shouted back at Magnus. “All I know is that ever since we went to Stefanurbem, I can’t win. I’m not strong enough.”
“And shouting at rain will make you stronger?”
“No!” Matthias let out a frustrated cry. “I don’t know what else to do! I can’t fight Cyril, nothing I did could save my father…” his face scrunched up as the fury inside swelled back up. “And you said it yourself. What god would let this all happen, to the only mortal family he has? If he’s there, if he let all this happen, I want to see him. Let him smite me! I would rather die fighting a god than as Cyril’s prisoner!”
In an instant, it seemed the Creator answered Matthias’ challenge. As the furious sky rumbled, Magnus gasped, and summoning more strength than he thought he would ever possess, pulled Matthias out of the way. “Get down!” the mage shouted, as a bolt of lightning raced across the deck and struck the ship’s mast.
There was a terrible moment as the electricity hung in the air, then the ominous groaning of wood called Matthias and Magnus’ attention to the mast. The great towering beam began to buckle and sway. The warrior needed no time to take action; leaping to his feet, Matthias rushed across the deck, and as the mast came cras
hing down, he caught it in his arms. It was a terrible weight; as tall as the walls of Torinus, and still lashed with rigging and sail, the mast may as well have been a mountain. But Matthias would not budge; he was no sailor, but he knew they would be lost without the sail. His arms were strained, and his knees buckled, but summoning all his strength, he would not drop it.
Magnus ran to his side, producing his wand. “We need to get the mast back up. You’re going to need to hold it,” the mage pursed his lips, looking at the great mass resting on the warrior, ready to crush him. “This will take some time. I’m sorry.”
Matthias’ answer was a strangled cry, hefting the mast onto his shoulder. Struggling under the burden, there was a tense moment as he fought to find his balance, the wind and the rain still pounding down on them. With a single, ponderous step, then another, he found the will to push the mast up; every bone in him rattled, and his limbs felt like they would burst, but he would not fail, not here. He stumbled and the mast groaned, falling back on him and nearly knocking the wind out of him, but with a deafening roar that could be heard over the howling storm, he called on his berserker strength for a different kind of battle.
In years to come, they would say Matthias’ defiant roar was what woke Floriana from another fitful slumber, all the way back in Torinus. The princess shot up, tossing off silken sheets and staring out at the inky sky that hung over the city. The astrologers had said a storm was coming, but something tugged at her mind. She had dreamt of Matthias, Magnus, and Stefan, she had seen their faces as clear as day, and now, something was calling to her, dragging her back to Jaeder’s tomb. She threw on a traveling cloak and ran to the stables as she had before, and as before, Braya was waiting for her.
“You’re sneaking out again, Princess?” the Inquisitor asked, her gaunt features highlighted by magefire.
“I don’t sneak, Braya. I am the daughter of the Archon, am I not?” she declared in a firm voice as she saddled her horse. “I can go where I please.”
Braya nodded, and stepped into another stall, where a second horse had already been saddled. “Are you at all concerned about the storm?”
“No,” Floriana snapped, then narrowed her eyes at Braya. “How did you know I was coming?”
The Inquisitor had an odd look on her face as she pulled the cowl wrapped around her bald head closer. “Call it intuition. You must go and see the fruits of your labor, no? Killing has left its mark on you.”
“Not nearly dark a mark as yours,” Floriana replied stiffly.
Braya nodded quietly. “Still. You must see this for yourself; the reality must sink in. But I warn you, it will be an ugly sight.” She paused. “I remember when I first killed. An Altani savage took my father’s life years ago. I was only ten. I hid from him, but when his back was turned, I took out my wand and I set him on fire.” Braya’s eyes drifted away. “Do you have any idea what burning flesh smells like, Princess?”
Floriana’s face twisted with disgust. “I came very close to finding out first hand, but no, I haven’t had the pleasure.”
The older woman scoffed. “It is no pleasure. It’s a horrible smell. But as that brute, that murderer, lay writhing on the ground, he reached out to me, begging for help. And I almost did.”
Braya chuckled mirthlessly, shaking her head. “I lingered for days. I visited his grave almost as much as my father’s. Years later, I dedicated myself to the Inquisitors, so no other little girl would lose her father in such a fashion.”
The princess was silent. She studied Braya, as if seeing her for the first time.
“I know my actions seem extreme to you, Princess. But everything I have done, I have done for your father, for our people, and for the faith. Fosporia will only be free when the Virtuous are united to rule it; and that means purging the heathen and the heretic wherever we find him. It is a hard, thankless task, but it must be done.” Braya paused, her intense eyes boring into Floriana. “And it will be your task, if you are to be queen.”
“I refuse to accept any task that requires me ordering the burning of people at the stake,” Floriana replied bitterly as she climbed into her saddle.
Braya looked at the Princess for a moment, blinking. “I never gave an order to burn people. We were asked to round people up for your father; why would I burn them? My Inquisitors would never do such a thing, the king would never hear of it.”
Floriana laughed acerbically. “Yes, my father prefers just dissolving people entirely, doesn’t he? Burning is too slow, too inefficient for him.” The princess clapped the reins of her horse, leading him out of the stable. “And perhaps you don’t have nearly the iron grip you think you have; when I am queen, I can assure you, the Inquisitors will not so neatly mirror the savage heathens they’re supposed to protect us from.” Floriana dug her heels into the side of the horse, causing the beast to gallop and leave Braya trailing after.
As Floriana made her pilgrimage to Jaeder’s tomb, the storm that raged across the Altadarios was still in violent throes. Matthias’ roar had reached the crew over the fury of the sea, and the braver souls among them came out of their hiding places. As they took in this awesome sight, no questions were asked, and the sailors rallied their friends to tie down the rigging and pull the sail in, anything to help the warrior holding their ship together. Even the Qingrenese braved the storm, with Bai Feng ordering his guards to help, and throwing his own considerable magical power behind Magnus, who was focused on repairing the mast as it rose back to place.
For all that time, Matthias had held firm, still bearing the weight of the mast. On Magnus’ signal, he gave one last heave to the towering mass of wood, rope, and sail, and pushed it back into its place, letting go with immense relief as Magnus and Bai Feng finished the repairs. The curly-haired mage was the first to collapse, sinking down and resting against the repaired mast. The crew came forward, cheering for the mage at first, and then, all eyes turned to Matthias.
The warrior’s breathing was shallow and haggard. The mast was one of the heaviest burdens his mighty back had ever borne, and to bear it for such a long time had left him truly drained. He barely heard, barely even recognized the crew gathering around him. He could think of nothing else but how much he desperately wanted to lie down and sleep, but his legs seemed locked in place, and refused to bend. His bleary eyes listlessly stared out at the horizon, and he gasped at what he saw.
The morning sun, golden and glorious, cut through the clouds, throwing light on the galley. Five brilliant rays reached through the lingering storm, igniting the sky as Matthias at last fell to his knees. He could barely move or think, but on the horizon he saw a figure from the sunrise, appearing before him. Matthias recognized it as a man, but the figure was wrapped in such brilliant sunlight, he could not make out any features. And yet, he felt no overwhelming heat; if anything, it was no more than a gentle summer breeze.
“Who are you?” Matthias mumbled.
“Someone who knows you as Matthias and Hakon both.”
The voice sounded familiar, but the warrior couldn’t place it. Who was this? “Why do you come to me?”
“You thought you knew what power and glory were, but instead, you have learned weakness and humiliation. It is time to stand again, and know your strength and honor once more.”
A thought came to the warrior as he reached out his hand to the being of light. “...Father?”
There was a warm chuckle that washed over him, and he felt a thin, tender hand wrap around his own; the voice changed, now gentle as a spring breeze and sounding distinctly feminine, with the same clipped accent he had heard from the Qingrenese.
“More than that. I am many things to many people; just as you are. Do you not see, my child? You were always more than a killer. You were a friend. A brother. A champion. A son.”
Matthias shuddered as a jumbled mess of emotion welled up inside him. “What am I now, then?”
“That is your choice.” The figure of light began to fade away into the rising sun again. “
Whoever told you your strength was for murder and conquest alone, it was not I.”
“Wait…” Matthias reached out, but the figure was long out of his reach. “Come back!”
The warrior swooned as the other voices cheering around him became more clear. He felt hands grabbing his shoulders, clapping him on the back. He wasn’t thinking clearly; who were these people? In an instant, everything became clear for the warrior, as if he had breached the surface seconds before drowning. All around him were human, Jaoren, and Tsuriin faces, all relieved, and all looking at him with grateful smiles.
Matthias turned, seeing Bai Feng standing over him, resting his slender hand on the warrior’s shoulder. “This man just saved the life of every last soul on this ship.” The Jaoren ambassador turned to a man with skin like leather and a full, graying beard. “Captain, whatever you have in your hold, he deserves a feast. I’ll cover the cost out of my own pocket.”
The crew cheered their approval, and Matthias, looking back at the rising sun, felt a smile tug on his lips for the first time in what felt like ages.
From the rolling waves of the Altadarios Ocean to the rolling dunes of the wasteland around Torinus, Floriana and Braya reached their destination. Jaeder’s tomb loomed above them, but this time, there was a noticeable change in the air. As they ascended the stairs, their way lit by the few colorful rays of dawn, Floriana breathed in sharply, gripping her wand tightly; they were not alone. As she and Braya rushed to the summit, they saw that the magical shield around Jaeder’s sarcophagus had been dissolved, and Stefan’s body was gone. They were met with the mysterious, luminescent eyes of five Veratii, the fox-like creatures regarding the two women with unreadable expressions.
“What have you done?” Braya demanded breathlessly, her eyes wide. “Where are the bodies of the Prophet and the others?”
“Who do you hope to find here?” one Veratii asked.
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