Rise of the Storm

by Carrie Summers

  I snatched the black-iron rod from my pocket. Scrambling across the juddering earth, I fixed my gaze on Havialo. He stood amongst the chaos, feet planted on a small platform of stable ground. Behind his group, the horses had fallen. Legs and hooves had been smashed between blocks of earth, and the beasts screamed and rolled their eyes. The young men and women who accompanied Havialo were terror-struck now, their auras flaring red and purple. Most had lost their feet. Still, tendrils of spirit bound them to Havialo. Bright motes of energy surged along these connections. I formed my aura into a blade and tried to swipe through the bonds. Spirit met spirit with a clash I felt in the base of my skull. My aura recoiled.

  “Havialo!” I yelled, the rod magnifying my voice over the roar and crash.

  Eyes closed, he ignored me. A beatific expression consumed his features as he shoved his hands forward. The spire tilted farther, cracking and grating deep in its core.

  Clutching the rod, I shrieked, the sound piercing the air. Somewhere deep inside the black iron, I heard a resonating whisper.

  The spirits inside the rod. I felt them, and at the same time, the idea came to me in a rush. If I could just reach them…

  I chased after the spirits’ contact, opening my thoughts. Memories of the night whispers surged, and I cast down the remembered fear of nightmares, the years-long despair over my father’s fate. I would not be a slave to my fears. I would own them, and whatever came, I would embrace.

  Finally, I heard the voices. A chorus of ghosts lamented the scene. I sensed that they could see everything that happened.

  “Can you hear me?” I yelled, my voice both rolling over the terrain and echoing though the link opened by the rod.

  Yes! came the answer, a million voices speaking at once. I felt as if my mind were being shaken inside my skull.

  I focused my thoughts, attempting to aim them into the halls of the dead. I seek a girl named Cartilla, I yelled across the veil. After a moment that seemed to stretch toward eternity, a quiet voice answered.

  I’m here.

  Chapter Forty

  Kostan

  A low hill in the center of Pascar

  “WE MAY HAVE another problem,” Sirez said. The Sharder woman stood on the hill in the center of Pascar, shading her eyes and squinting toward the gap in the mountains where Westpass Cut entered the grasslands. A mid-sized group of figures was spilling from the cleft. I, too, shaded my eyes, because their motion didn’t make sense. They were moving as fast as mounted riders, yet they appeared to be on foot. Some even seemed to run on four legs. Strangely, an area of dusk seemed to slip across the waving grass as the group ran forward.

  Grunts of surprise rose. The leadership of both armies stood around us on the low rise. The foot soldiers, protectors, and aurums were still frozen, locked in combat and awaiting the conclusion of our negotiations. So far, however, it seemed Parveld had been right. Surrounded by so much carnage, both Sharders and Atal recognized the horror that their battle frenzy had camouflaged. The dead and the injured blanketed the ground, and Pascar’s streets were black with spilled blood.

  “Who—what are they?” I asked. In the space of a few breaths, the band had put at least a hundred paces between them in the mountains. Behind, a smaller group of mounted riders exited the cleft between hills. As they raced onto the grasslands, another low rumble shook the earth. The bones of the continent were restless today; from what we’d seen while waking the leadership from their frozen combat, a massive landslide had recently sent a cloud of dust billowing from the area where Chasm Road exited the mountains.

  “It was our backup plan,” Sirez said. “Beasts roam the mountains of late… terrible things. That group had been on our heels. We thought we could turn the situation to our advantage.” She glanced at the other leaders of Stormshard’s forces. “Do you have your wardstones?”

  One by one, the others nodded.

  “Wardstones? What do you mean?” the Prime Protector asked.

  “Those things,” Sirez said, gesturing with her chin, “are like nothing we’ve ever seen. Nearly impossible to defeat. But the wardstones repel them. We planned to soften you with the first attack and then retreat to let the Riftspawn finish the work.”

  Parveld stepped between us. His gaze was distant, and his face twisted in a grimace. “Cursed tides,” he whispered. “They were in my visions, always lurking but never clear enough to see. The darkness, though… I’ve always known it would come. Do you feel it, Kostan?”

  I blinked, thinking. Yes, I did know what he meant. Both of our visions had left us with fears of a dark force rising from the bones of the earth. But, like Parveld, I’d never seen the threat directly.

  “So these wardstones…” I said.

  “We don’t have many,” Sirez said. “Those riders carry a few, enough to herd the Riftspawn like shepherds guiding sheep. The remaining stones are enough to form a defensive perimeter around Stormshard’s forces if we cluster together.”

  “But they’re not enough to defend my forces as well as yours.”

  She pressed her lips together. “I said I would work with you to find peace, and I don’t make a vow with the intent of breaking it. We won’t abandon you; I’ll send riders with instructions for the herders, and we’ll try to turn the Spawn aside. But if those beasts come at us, will be lucky if half our joined number survives.”

  I ran my eyes over the frozen battle. We could release everyone but the townsfolk. The Provs were already lost. If Stormshard failed to divert the Riftspawn, perhaps the beasts would fall on the maddened townsfolk first.

  I extended my hand to the Shard leader, taking in the rest of her conclave with a glance. She’d spoken of vows, but we hadn’t yet made our allegiance formal. “And I meant it when I said we’ll fight beside you,” I said. “Stormshard, will you stand with the Empire of Atal until we defeat our common enemies?”

  Sirez ran her eyes over her fellow Sharders. One by one, they nodded, and finally, she clasped my hand. “You have no enemy in Stormshard.”

  As we shook, the ground began to tremble. I locked eyes with Parveld. Curse fate and her cruel ways. Clenching my fists, I turned to face Jaliss. The earth’s shivering grew so violent that I lost my feet.

  But I kept my eyes on Steelhold as sheaves of rock began to cleave from the spire and fall toward the city below. I’d seen this dozens of times before, but I would not turn away this time.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Savra

  A flat plain that was once Chasm Road

  CARTILLA? I SAID. Do you know what’s happening? As I spoke into the halls of the dead, I felt as if my voice echoed. A strange hush had fallen over the spirits.

  I leaned forward… and felt the spirits’ home take shape in my mind. Suddenly, I envisioned vast, soaring ceilings, hallways that branched and divided and had somehow been built by the many emotions the dead carried beyond the veil. Meanwhile, beyond the edges of my awareness, it seemed that time in the mortal realm had slowed.

  I can hear you, the girl said. But I don’t understand where you are.

  She confuses easily. Another voice entered my mind, and with it came the image of a woman. Her bone structure reminded me of the Atal elite, but her face lacked the cruel sneer I’d so often confronted. She wore a simple gown of violet brocade.

  Who are you? I asked.

  I’m Cartilla’s mother, she answered.

  “Havialo’s wife,” I said, somehow turning my thought into echoing speech. Havialo had said she’d killed herself not long after her daughter’s death.

  A sad smile touched the woman’s lips. “I would’ve been. But we weren’t allowed to marry. The Empire has long persecuted the earth mages.”

  Beyond the boundaries of my vision, another crack reverberated from deep, deep within the earth. I blinked to make sense of the juxtaposition of the living and the dead and saw Havialo shivering in pleasure as power flooded his body. Someone shrieked. I was losing time.
<
br />   “I need Cartilla’s help,” I said. “I need her to…”

  To what? What could Havialo’s daughter do to stop this?

  I focused on the black iron of the speaking rod pressed against my hand. Lilik had said that the spirits gave life to the rod’s magic. Could they also guide its effects? When I pressed my aura hard against the warm metal, a hollow hum filled the halls. Deeper into the vast cathedral, an alcove began to glow. Somehow, I knew it represented the link between rod and spirits.

  “There,” I said, pointing.

  I hadn’t needed to ask. The dead had already started to drift toward the chamber, perhaps drawn by the rod’s call.

  “Does Cartilla know what her father is doing in her name?” I asked.

  Her mother fixed me with a glare. “Hasn’t she suffered enough?”

  “Mama? What’s happening?” Cartilla’s voice was so faint I could scarcely hear her. I peered at the drifting procession of the dead. I hadn’t yet caught a glimpse of the girl, but a gauzy presence hung beside the mother. Both were being pulled, feet sliding, along the corridor toward the chamber. Ahead, the glow bloomed as the first of the phantoms entered the alcove.

  “She’s suffered far more than she should have,” I said. “What the Ministry did to your daughter was unforgivable. But those men and women are dead. Would you let every Jalissman and Jalisswoman you knew be slaughtered by your lover’s rage?”

  At once, the woman’s face screwed up in a mask of anguish. “You don’t know how it felt to have her body delivered to my doorstep. How I hated Havialo. I wailed and screamed and demanded this revenge he’s taking right now. My baby girl…”

  “Mama?” Cartilla said again. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Shh, darling, it’s all right. We’re just waiting for Eshel to come fetch you for school. You’re in the Academy now, remember?”

  I stared, aghast. “Does she not know?”

  “She didn’t deserve what happened. She deserved…” The woman clamped her lips shut, shaking her head. Where the other spirits were beginning to look more real to me, their faces reflecting the people they’d been in life, the girl was still shrouded in mist. She didn’t know she was dead, or if she had once believed it, her mother had worked hard to erase that knowledge.

  I needed Cartilla’s help. I didn’t wish to go against her mother’s will, but the fate of everyone in Jaliss depended on this. Besides, what her mother was doing was wrong. I’d lived my life under an Empire that told me what I would become. Cartilla shouldn’t spend eternity waiting for some long-gone friend to walk with her to an Academy she could no longer attend.

  I pushed against her mother’s spirit, forcing the two apart. The sensation made my stomach roil. The living and the dead were not supposed to touch like this. But I didn’t care, not now.

  I reached for Cartilla’s spirit. “You have to remember,” I said. “You died. Evil men killed you for something your father did. But now your father will kill many more children unless we stop him.”

  “What? Dead?”

  “Do you remember the noose around your neck. Do you remember how afraid you felt?” I hated myself for forcing these things on her.

  “I—Yes, the rope was scratchy. I didn’t understand why people were cheering.” As she spoke, the girl began to fade into view. Behind me, her mother shrieked and beat incorporeal fists against my back.

  “What else?” I asked.

  “I stood on a platform, so scared. I couldn’t help myself. I released my water. It was warm, running down my legs.” The girl’s voice broke under the pain of her memories.

  The blow landed on my jaw, rattling my teeth and cracking my neck. Cartilla’s mother, insubstantial no more, screamed and dug claws into me. The pain was real, as real as a hunting cat tearing out my throat. I gagged, shoved her with my aura yet again, then spilled a tendril into her mind. Back in the mortal realm, bile flooded my mouth, and I spit on the earth as my stomach heaved again.

  “I’m sorry you were so scared, Cartilla,” I said as I tightened my grip on her mother’s spirit. I couldn’t control the woman, not if I wished to keep all of my sanity. But I held her at bay.

  “Why did they do it?” she asked, her voice small.

  “No answer I could give can explain the nature of evil,” I said quietly. “They were small men and women eager for power. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve to die, but you can help other people now.”

  “Help them how?”

  “Your father was very sad about what they did to you. His anger allowed evil into his heart. He’s not himself anymore, but if you talk to him, you might be able to cast out the bad parts and bring your Papa back.”

  “Talk to him how?”

  “That chamber,” I said pointing. We’d drifted close, almost near enough that the golden glow fell upon us.

  I reached out a phantom hand. Her smaller hand materialized in my grasp, reminding me of my sister, Avill. The last mists faded as Cartilla’s body consolidated. She looked like Havialo had during the small moments when I’d seen him at peace: before the campfire on a still night; asleep in his bedroll. Beneath the hatred and anger, the man who’d loved his daughter still existed. I just hoped we could reach him.

  Once inside the chamber, I focused again on the black-iron rod. The light around us flared as bright as the sun at midday.

  “What now?” Cartilla said.

  I think if you focus on my hand, you’ll be able to feel your father. It felt right to bridge the auras this way, using the rod as a focus—I just needed to somehow connect with Havialo. But the shield that had deflected my aura-lance was likely still in place. I needed to try something else. Keeping my awareness split between the realms, I inspected Havialo. His upper lip curled back from his teeth as he watched Steelhold’s fall.

  Gathering my energy, I sprang and caught hold of his ankle. His eyes widened in shock as he stared down at me.

  Now, I said into the halls of the dead. Try to speak.

  “Papa?” Cartilla’s voice came from my mouth, amplified by the black-iron rod.

  Havialo froze.

  “Papa, it’s me.”

  The earth mage began to tremble. He knew her voice even years after her death. I kept my gaze locked with his, compelling him to listen, not with my aura but with my heart.

  “Cartilla?” he whispered.

  “Papa, she said you’re killing people. Why?”

  “I miss you, sweet one,” Havialo said. “But when I’m done here, we’ll be together again.”

  “But what are you doing?”

  “I’m avenging you. Finally.” Even as he said it, his voice shook. Deep in his eyes, I saw the man I’d recognized in Cartilla’s face.

  “But I don’t want you to hurt anyone.”

  “You don’t understand. They killed you. They deserve to die.”

  “No, Papa. Other people did this too me.”

  “Shush now. Let me finish, and we can talk about it. I’ll come to you.”

  “But I don’t want you to come. Not if you do this. My father wouldn’t kill people.”

  Havialo’s face twisted in pain. Behind him, the young people who’d followed him were dropping to their knees, their faces pale. Their auras were weak, maybe from the efforts of helping him. If we could delay long enough, perhaps their bonds would give out.

  Gently, I probed Havialo’s spirit, looking for an entrance for my aura-lance. Whatever shell the others had built around him was still there, but I sensed chinks in the armor.

  “You’re doing a good job Cartilla,” I said in the realm of the dead.

  “He’s not the man I remember,” she said, sounding older now. She’d been twelve when she died. Closer to a woman than a child in many ways. But the decades of her mother’s control had stripped away her maturity. It was just now returning.

  “No, he’s not,” I said. “But maybe we can still save him.”

  “Too late,” she
said sadly.

  “What—”

  Beside Havialo, the spiritist who’d defended him from me gasped, her eyes locked on the scene ahead. Keeping my hand on Havialo’s ankle, I rolled to look at Steelhold. The spire had finally tipped and now fell toward Jaliss. From the fortress walls, a few people recognized their approaching deaths and leaped into empty air. A last moment of freedom, perhaps.

  Angry beyond words, I shrieked and yanked on the earth mage’s ankle, sprang up and tackled him. The spiritists who were still standing backed away, seeming to wake from a trance. Most of the others lay motionless. Quite possibly dead.

  With a quick mental gesture, I commanded my thug to sprint over and hand me his knife. I shoved the point against the earth mage’s chest, pressing with my aura at the same time. As my blade cut his flesh, my spirit-lance pierced the shield.

  I exploded my spirit within his soul and took control.

  Strange, overflowing coldness surged through my mind. Abruptly, I felt the position of every nearby rock, every twist of the wind, even the warm potential in sunlight. At the sensation, my sanity started to shear away. It was too much. Too foreign, this sudden flood of geognosty.

  Hold on to yourself! Lilik yelled into my thoughts. Parveld said it many times: all magic is one. We all manipulate energy. This isn’t something other. This is you. It’s always been you.

  I reeled, struck with the power, blown to and fro by the tides of potential. And slowly, as if catching grass blades in a storm wind, I began to take hold of myself. I wrapped my awareness around Havialo’s gnosty, reimagining it like an aura. The life force of nature. Not so different from the life inside a human.

  Abruptly, I felt Steelhold. The spire was a field of chaos, fragments hurtling for Jaliss. The first stones had already punched through roofs. Massive splinters had crashed into the streets, new obelisks like tombstones jutting from the cobbles. Though I sensed the spire’s aura, I couldn’t control it. My mind just couldn’t encompass it.