Embers of a Broken Throne

by Terry C. Simpson

  Not long after, amid a tune of insect chirps, the drumbeat of rain, and drip of water run-off, he was making his way through brush and trees that did little to deter the dartan’s progress. On several occasions he pinpointed dark forms or the glint of eyes among the trees or one with the shadows. None of the Netherwood’s beasts actually stepped within the radiant pool cast by the lightstones. It remained so until they ventured to the edge of the grove that held the Entosis.

  Fangs bared, several daggerpaws and lapras slunk from their hiding places. The dartan warbled a warning and stomped its feet. Ancel waited as patient as he could. When a howl rose above any other sound, the Entosis guards parted to allow his passage.

  He guided his mount between close-knit trunks that dripped water from moss, vines, and leaves. In this particular area he could’ve stayed without getting wet, such was the canopy’s density. At last, they broke into the clearing.

  The trees surrounding them were taller than any others in the Netherwood. His lightstones penetrated but so far, making the black wall of trunks and foliage even blacker. Flashes still radiated above him. Within the clearing he’d expected to feel more at ease but the air here was somehow thicker, viscous in its consistency. If he held out his hand and closed his fingers he thought he might come away with something tangible. The dartan warbled.

  “I agree.” He patted its shell. “This isn’t a likable place, but some things have to be done.”

  He dismounted, boots splashing into mud when he landed. Slogging through wet, knee-high grass, he made for the center of the clearing. The air grew even thicker, bearing down on his shoulders. Upon gaining the correct location he extended his hand and felt the Etchings respond of their own accord.

  A dark slit appeared before him, several times his height. The dartan made another sound, this one more high-pitched.

  With a smile, Ancel stepped forward.

  And fell.

  The world spun, black on black. His stomach dropped away to depths of nothingness. Bile rose in his throat. Bitter. Sensation and taste were all he had so he clung to them like a man caught on a plank amidst massive swells during a storm at sea. Then as sudden as it began, the world righted itself, black grew to gray, gray to white, white to light. He emerged in the Entosis.

  The sun’s golden orb blazed in the sky. A wind caressed his wet cloak and hair. An ocean of grass spread before him, the hills its waves, dotted with animals at play or grazing. Light reflected from the surface of a familiar lake below him. Steep cliffs soared behind him and off to either side, clothed in metals and precious stones. Off in the distance a mountain towered, peak shrouded in mist.

  Spanning from the lake, a forest began, its green trees and healthy bloom stretching all the way to the mountain. At its edge was the blinking radiance of resinbuds, the lights in their blossoms activated to attract nearby creatures.

  Several swishing noises made him glance to his left. Horse-faced kentens, blue bone protrusions where forelocks would be, Shimmered from near him until they stood next to their bull. The bull shook its golden male, and issued a challenge before strutting off, its bony forelock waving with a life of its own.

  Ignoring the creature, Ancel leaned his head back as Prima surged around him. When he glanced down at his Etchings they were aglow beneath his shirt. He almost lost himself in the moment, the completeness and tranquility of it, before thinking on his purpose.

  “Light to balance shade. Light to show honor. Honor to show mercy,” he said aloud.

  And then he thrust as much Prima as he could into his Etchings, into the one that portrayed Etien the Battleguard. Light and heat seared his body and vision. Incandescence shot skyward. Quick as thought it resolved into a humanoid form, at least a hundred feet tall, eyes like the sun, a glowing sword on its back.

  “Ancel, I wondered when you would return.” Etien’s voice was a deep yet gentle rumble. “How may I serve?”

  Ancel bowed. “Hail, Etien.”

  The sentient nodded.

  “It seemed the only way I might get some answers to the questions that plague me was to find someone close to the gods, someone who might have lived during their time.” Ancel undid the clasp that held his cloak around his neck, shrugged off his leather vest, and sat. “So here I am.”

  Etien gazed off toward the mountain for a moment, made a grunting sound in his throat, and then said, “Ask.”

  “Were we really created to protect the world?”

  “For the most part, yes. There is a mantra all Eztezians learned in the old days. It began with a question. Why do we exist?”

  “And the answer?”

  “To help the helpless, to defend, to build, to destroy, to judge.” Etien gazed toward the great mountain again. “The gods made certain Eztezians responsible for particular races. It was their jobs to determine who would live and die. Some became too attached, choosing to protect when they should have been destroying after judgment. It is a human flaw: clinging to something one has watched grow from infancy, believing in the ability to change, to become more. Even when their charges were mired in darkness, some believed they could still find a spark.”

  “What do you believe?”

  “Every life, no matter how inconsequential, is worth defending. One shouldn’t condemn an entire race for the acts of few or the many. The Setian are the perfect example.”

  Ancel could relate. He pictured Eztezians having the same feelings that drove him: an absolute need to save those he held dear regardless of the consequences.

  “I grow tired of always reacting to the plots of Amuni’s Children and the Nine,” Ancel said. “It’s past time I made them respond to me.”

  “A fair enough assessment.” Etien lowered himself to the ground, legs crossed. His body encompassed the hillside below Ancel. “How may I help?”

  “How do I tell the netherlings apart? How do I discover all of them among my people?”

  “Two methods exist that I know of. A Beasttamer can be shown through her pets but that in itself is limited.” Etien’s breath fluttered through the grass. “The other is for you to possess the Tenets of heat and cold, to hold guardianship, become a Materwarden for those also.”

  “Then I’ll be able to tell?”

  “After a fashion. You will be able to sense or see all netherlings but the Nine. Until you are the guardian of all the Streams, the Nine will be indiscernible to you.”

  “That’s it?” Ancel frowned. “Could I invoke the Tenets right now? I know heat’s.”

  Etien smiled the smile of a teacher regarding an overenthusiastic student. “You would be stronger, some of its Etchings would appear, but you wouldn’t be heat’s Materwarden.”

  “But—”

  Etien held up his hand. “First, you must understand there are many different invocations of a Tenet, and as many different Tenets as there are essences. Consider that there are three elements: the Streams, the Flows, and the Forms, which are made up of the major essences. Within those major essences are minor ones, like fire for heat, or ice for cold. Each of them has a Tenet and a power of its own, not all of them known.

  “The stronger among you can change the properties the Tenet calls upon. Take heat for example. One of its Tenets states heat to balance metal, calling upon heat to affect metallic essences and thus change their form.”

  Ancel frowned as a memory sparked. “That’s the one Ryne used.”

  “My point made,” Etien said. “The strongest among the Eztezians can summon sentients when invoking a Tenet, but only the Materwarden can call forth one such as I, a Battleguard. The warden alone is capable of using the essence to its full potential. And his Tenet would include the opposite to the essence he holds.”

  “Hmm,” Ancel said. “How can I become the Materwarden for the others then?”

  “Three ways. By having the one currently attuned to the task release the Tenet to you, either of his own accord or by you killing him. If he dies and refuses to release it to you, then you must cross the Ka
ssite, pass through Hydae, venture into the Nether, and hope to find the netherling who guards the sela that contains the Tenet. The third method is to travel to Antonjur and wrench the power from the mountain’s grasp.”

  The name Antonjur filled Ancel’s head with images from his dreams, pictures of an Eztezian and a Skadwaz as they fought in Jenoah while the gods battled in the sky before destroying the city. “The Nether seems out of the question. And Antonjur has haunted me. Where and what is it?”

  Etien turned and pointed toward the distant mountain. “The old home of the gods. It sits upon that peak, trapped in a place between worlds.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound likely either, nor enticing. Although it seems a better choice than Hydae and the Nether.” Ancel cringed as he mentioned the names.

  “Even if it did seem a choice, you lack the power to breach that which protects it.”

  “Which leaves the Eztezians,” Ancel said. “Heat’s Materwarden resides in the Broken Lands, but I’ve yet to discover the other.”

  “Everland.”

  Ancel groaned. Nothing is ever easy. As he pondered a trip to the Broken Lands, a question dawned on him. “Etien.”

  “Yes?”

  “Would you know who released Light’s Tenet to me? Who started the process for me to become its warden?”

  “Normally, yes. But that part of me is vague, a blur, a memory shrouded in black and emptiness.”

  Ancel narrowed his eyes as he replayed everything up until he called forth Etien. “Was it Ryne?”

  “No, it could not be. He once held light, but he gave it up long ago.”

  “To whom.”

  Chasms and hills grew on Etien’s brow. “I, I do not know. Perhaps it returned to the Nether.”

  “So that explains it,” Ancel mused. “When I activated the Chainin, the netherling that appeared bestowed the Tenet and my Etchings.”

  “Your Etchings, yes, for only a netherling is capable of imbuing into living flesh, but he did not pass on the Tenet.” Certainty echoed in Etien’s voice.

  “How do you know this?”

  “Once the essence attached to guardianship and a Tenet passes into the Nether, it becomes tethered to a netherling and them to that plane. They cannot leave. Besides, your ability to activate the Chainin and call forth Prima meant you already possessed light’s Tenet.”

  The shock of the declaration numbed Ancel. Eyes narrowing, he wracked his brain, trying to think who might have been responsible. Few possibilities came to mind, the most prominent among them being his mother. To free her he knew he needed to be stronger. The Broken Lands called. It had been heavy before, but now his pendant felt as if he carried a mountain around his neck.

  Chapter 27

  Ryne waited near the Entosis’ entrance, watching the glint and glow of eyes in the darkness among the trees. Shadowed forms shook themselves like great dogs. The occasional growl, snarl, or barking grunt issued from the various Netherwood beasts that encircled him, the noise of their malcontent interrupting a chorus of insects. Coupled with their animal stench, a lesser man might have been afraid. Not so for him although the animals had all grown beyond his expectations. A good thing considering the purpose for which he’d bred their predecessors.

  He didn’t have to wait long before the portal to the Entosis activated. Air twisted around it, the light drizzle spattering against its surface, forming rivulets to trickle down its translucence. For all of a heartbeat the black slit of the entrance blotted out the shadows, made a jest of the growing night.

  In a long cloak with a leather vest underneath, Ancel stepped from its depths, eyes closed. He paused, swayed, and stopped. The clearing stilled.

  “You’re here.” Ancel opened his eyes.

  “Yes. I’m glad you found it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Ancel demanded. “And why did you create all this? Was it just to protect the Entosis?”

  Ryne frowned at Ancel’s attitude before smoothing his features. “I had to know you could feel the Entosis on your own. As for why I made this,” he cast a hand out to indicate the forest and the beasts, “the upcoming battle isn’t only about you. When the Eztezians fought the gods, even animals partook in those battles. In some cases it was they that turned the tide, tearing away victory from certain defeat.”

  “So you found a way to make them stronger.”

  “Yes,” Ryne said. “I knew the combined shadelings from the Great Divide and Hydae would require more hands to battle than all of Ostania combined.”

  Ancel still hadn’t moved an inch. The rain played a low patter. “I was inside experimenting, regaining my power. Tell me, when you gave me light’s Tenet …”

  The rest of the words washed over Ryne. Inwardly, he smiled. The boy had been talking to Etien.

  “I never gave you light’s Tenet or claimed to. I once held it, but it wasn’t mine to give.”

  “But after the battle at the Iluminus, you said—”

  “I said first I gave you my light then I gave you the world’s light. Giving you my light is what I did by placing a bit of my power in every Chainin.” Memories Ryne had kept locked away surfaced. “I still recall when I realized how close I was to completely losing my sanity. You don’t want to know what it’s like … the pain … the suffering … the darkness … the helplessness. I’d done all I could in preparation for those with power like you, your brother, and sister. My aspirations made me seek power I shouldn’t have, touch Mater without the Eye’s protection, put myself at risk. But I did so knowing that one day someone would activate the Chainin and release what was mine. It would put a limit on my time to do what was needed, but at least it would see me live until the right person was born.”

  Ancel’s stance softened, tension draining from his shoulders.

  “You could’ve simply asked me,” Ryne said, “instead of seeing if I would lie, if I was the enemy.”

  A long breath and then Ancel strode over to him. The night’s insects picked up their orchestra. Shadowy forms and glinting eyes retreated into the forest.

  “The way things have gone I needed to be certain.” Ancel’s mouth twitched into a rueful smile. Relief lit his eyes.

  Ryne nodded. “And before you ask, I don’t know who passed it to you. My guess is your mother.”

  “Mine too.” Ancel stared out into the night, attention focused toward the north. “I have to go to her.”

  “You do, but not now. You’re not ready.”

  “I know that also. I must go to the Broken Lands first.”

  With a shake of his head Ryne suppressed a laugh. He’d come to tell Ancel of what he’d seen, to convince him to act now, but the work had already been done.

  Ancel frowned. “I felt you rushing here as if something was important, something driving you. What is it?”

  Ryne told him of what he’d seen in the Broken Lands, of Amuni’s Children’s and the shade’s advance. “I believe it’s the Skadwaz’s intention to kill heat’s Materwarden and force you to Hydae. If we leave by the morning we might arrive in Kajeta in a few weeks. The city should still be intact. It was built to hold out for years. But we must go as soon as possible. If Amuni’s armies advanced that quickly they may be capable of much more.”

  “Then the morning it is.” Ancel turned and mounted a nearby dartan. “First, I must confer with Mirza and then report to my father and the others. We need to gather a considerable force.”

  At a brisk pace they wove their way through the Netherwood and into Benez. They travelled up the city’s winding, wet streets past the old slums, the amphitheater, and into the Upper City. Ancel drew his mount to a halt at one of the repaired villas, leapt down, and strode to the door.

  “Hail, Dagodin Loran, is Lieutenant Faber in?” he said to the guard next to the entrance.

  It still surprised Ryne how Ancel seemed to always remember the names of any soldiers posted with his friends or family.

  “Yes, Lord Dorn. If you can wait here, I’ll fetch him.” Th
e soldier put fist to heart for Ancel, bowed in Ryne’s direction, and hurried inside.

  Mirza appeared at the door moments later dressed in a plain white shirt, trousers, and boots. His face looked somewhat different but Ryne couldn’t quite place the change.

  “Ancel, Ryne, what brings you two here?”

  “Oh, I can’t just come to see a friend.” Ancel grinned and stepped forward to clasp arms with Mirza. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to greet your mother, but things have been hectic. How—What did you do to your hair?”

  Mirza blushed. His normal shock of red hair had been cropped neat and short. “It’s my mother. She cut it.”

  Ryne couldn’t help but smile, deciding not to the interrupt the two friends.

  “Someone made you do something?” Ancel exclaimed in feigned disbelief. “By the gods, now I have to meet her. I have the vaguest memory of what she looked like when we were children.”

  “Not right now.” With a tilt of his head Mirza indicated the open doorway behind him “She’s asleep.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Ancel said, voice lowered.

  “Bah, where’s my manners anyway,” Mirza said. “I can’t have my friends out in the rain. Come in.” He beckoned them inside. To the waiting guard he said, “Make sure no one disturbs us.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant Faber.”

  They followed Mirza into the long hall and a spacious sitting room.

  “So what can I do for you? Need me for something?” Mirza indicated several chairs. “I’ve been pretty bored the last few days, sitting around waiting for this Tribunal army to appear.”

  Ryne took in the room’s chairs, glanced at Mirza, and then back at the furniture again.

  “I’m glad you asked,” Ancel began.

  “Oh, sorry, Ryne.” Mirza threw a few cushions from several armchairs onto the floor. “The floor is the best I can do.”