Golden Tide (Song of the Aura, Book Four)

by Gregory J. Downs

  Circles. That was how fate ran. In circles. And it hurt.

  The Giant’s Bridge was crossed in the night, Steamclaw trotting along raggedly while Lauro and Mudlo dragged on behind, panting and gasping with the exertion. Their unearthly guide did not slow or pause, tired as it was, and the two warriors were obliged to keep up the pace no matter what.

  Morning came, and the circle turned. The bridge ended, and when Lauro collapsed with exhaustion on the shore of the Giant’s Isle, he was shocked to look back and find that they had crossed nearly a third of the Great Channel. The Giant’s Isle was so huge, it made up another third, and the bridgeless waters on the far side completed the distance. The wind told him, and he knew it was true. It whispered all kinds of sensations and messages in his ear, now. Every one of them true. The wind did not lie.

  Their rest was short; then the ranger, the prince, and the draik were climbing the jagged slopes of the mountainous isle, walking when they could not run, crawling when they could no longer force themselves to stand. If there had ever been a road to meet the bridge, it had vanished in time out of mind.

  The morning light came, and the sun leaped into the sky; here, at least, in the domain of the Red Aura, the clouds of war could not obscure the sky. That extra encouragement, that small bit of strength that poured into Lauro from his native element in its full, uncovered glory, was just enough to push him onward. Much as he would not have liked to admit it, he was not as resilient as a draik or as rugged as a ranger. But the Power of Sky filled him until he thought his heart might stop from the intensity… and he continued on, far past his normal stamina and will would allow.

  Then, at long, long last, when the late afternoon was blocked by the peak of the Giant’s Mount, casting a titan’s shadow across the Isle… the climb ended.

  “WE… ARE HERE… HUMAN PRINCE… LOOK UP…”

  Lauro lifted his face groggily up from where he had dropped the minute before, exhausted beyond belief and barely able even to feel the pain of his aching body and bruised, scarred hands and feet. The climb had not been gentle, even after he had bundled his coat and shirt and swords at his back. Sweat that had glistened on his chest and arms was now caked and dry, sticky and unpleasant. But he forced his eyelids to open, and his muscles to lift him up. The sight would have taken his breath away, if he had had any left.

  “The… Giant’s… Mount…” Mudlo gasped, half lying across his own pack of gear and weapons where he had dropped them.

  In the voluminous shadow that bathed the near side of the mountain’s peak, they had come to a sort of small valley, as if the rock had been ripped out of the mountainside in the shape of a deep rectangular alley. At their end, a flight of steps more than double the size of a humans’ began, sloping steeply upward for hundreds upon hundreds of yards until they stopped at a tall, blank rock face. Lauro stared for several long moments, eyes adjusting to the shadow, before he realized that there was a dark line running down the middle of the cliff.

  It was a door, and it was just the smallest part open.

  “We’re on a giant’s doorstep,” Mudlo breathed, open awe in his voice. Bit by slow bit, Lauro and he picked themselves up and faced Steamclaw.

  “GIANTS DID NOT BUILD THIS. THIS IS THE WORK OF THOSE WHO CAME BEFORE.”

  “Well, what do we do now?” Lauro tried not to let his voice shake from sheer exhaustion.

  “We, ah… go in, it looks like.” Mudlo seemed to be slightly recovered, at least enough to start talking like a loony again. Lauro tried, and failed, to smile confidently.

  “Right.”

  Steamclaw suddenly stiffened, a low growl emanating from its jaws. Then its eyes blazed crimson and it reared up on its hind legs, clawing the air and roaring until Lauro clapped hands over his ears in pain. Mudlo did the same, but the look he gave the creature was something closer to pity than anger or fear. Can he understand the speech of animals, too? Lauro wondered.

  The draik tossed its head and bounded forward, racing up the steps faster than it should have been able to without resting. In moments it had vanished between the two doors.

  “Blast!” Lauro spat, and began to laboriously climb the steps after the draik, his pack pulling awkwardly at his shoulder, unbalancing him. Mudlo followed, puffing and blowing, but saying nothing. Sweat began to drip freely again on both their faces, despite the cold air and chilling shadows, as they pushed themselves harder and harder, trying desperately to reach the doors.

  At the entrance into the mountain, Lauro suddenly stopped dead. The wind was positively dead inside the doors… he could feel it like a wound in the air. And there was something else, tugging at his awareness, demanding attention like the menacing clouds of an oncoming storm.

  “Mudlo…” he said hesitantly as the ranger joined him, “Why did Steamclaw bolt?”

  “I don’t…” Mudlo began, but then he paused. “Do you hear something, Lauro? It sounds like…”

  “…Marching,” the prince finished. “I’ve been hearing it, and not realizing it… for at least an hour. But now…”

  He spun around as the wind screamed in his ears and threw bloody colors at his eyes. Gold glinted scarlet in the dying sunlight, miles down the slopes of the Giant’s Mount. That had been marching. Someone was coming!

  With a curse, Lauro gestured to Mudlo and slipped stealthily into the darkness beyond the behemoth stone doors. The space was just wide enough for two people- or one draik- to slip through. Mudlo followed a second later. As soon as they had entered, the door began to slide close, eerily silent except for the whirring of gears far overhead.

  As darkness closed in over them, Mudlo finally let loose with an oath. “That was…”

  “… the Golden Nation,” Lauro confirmed. “The Sky’s been giving me hints for hours now, only I’ve been too tired to understand them. Those blasted coal-skins and their war machines are probably swarming all over the island!”

  The door continued to slide closed. “Then, ah… why did we come in here?” Mudlo asked.

  “Because the Red Aura’s the only one who can protect us from that blasted army!” Lauro exclaimed, suddenly feeling frantic. What if he had done wrong to trust Steamclaw, and now they had walked into a trap?

  With a shuddering BOOM, the door closed, and the pair was plunged into total darkness.

  “Blast,” Mudlo said, stuttering gone. “I hope we…”

  His words were drowned out, as millions of gears and mechanisms all whirred into motion simultaneously. A bold red light flooded the entire cavernous space beyond the doors, and a rich, booming voice called to them from everywhere at once.

  “Welcome, Children of Men, to my realm! I am Automo, Maker of Wonders and Tamer of Beasts! Fear not, for you are protected from all harm, here in my scarlet hall!”

  ~

  “NO! Don’t go! Lauro!” Gribly sat up so fast that his hammock tipped him out onto the floor with a smack! “Oh Creator, no…” he moaned, too surprised and disoriented to get up.

  The dream… He had been trying to send another dream to Lauro, knowing the prince would need every advantage he could get… Traveller had appeared, stopping him, showing him a vision… He had seen Lauro and a man in gray and blue under attack by legions of gold-armored, lifeless monsters… He had seen the Invincible speeding toward an enormous waterfall, Captain Berne standing grimly at the bow, sailing to his death…

  Fate is tearing apart at the seams, Traveller had told him. The old boundaries are no more. Norne, the Aura of Fate, is losing her hold. If you do not set Destiny back on its course…

  And then he had Lauro, impaled on a bone-white sword with streaks of red set in the blade. He had been smiling through the blood…

  “No…” he whispered, almost whimpering. There had been more visions, showing him what he had to do… but it would mean sacrificing her! “No… No, no, no… I’ve broken free… I won’t leave her… I won’t stop…” But he knew his protestations were useless. He had seen war sweeping the world. He ha
d seen his friends killed or pushed into hiding. He had seen the future, without the Creator’s guidance touching the world through him, and Lauro, and Elia, and… and Gramling. Even Gramling the Pit Strider had a part to play.

  “I will not give in,” he snarled, pushing himself up and stumbling to his feet, swaying with the rolling motion of the deck.

  There was too much to think about, too much to consider after the swirling visions of the Aura-dream. If he turned aside to help the prince of Vastion, would Elia still survive? Could he save her? There had been visions of what might happen… but nothing was definite. Not anymore. Somehow Fate was unraveling, and even if he couldn’t stop it, it was his duty to slow it down. It was his duty to help the world.

  “I will not give in!” he shouted, reaching out his hand to his staff, where it lay discarded on the floor. It leaped into his hand, and he slammed it on the ground. “I will not give IN!”

  He stumbled half-blind through the hallways of the ship. There were still not many crewmen or nymphs, so he was not interrupted before he climbed out onto the Invincible’s exterior, stomping across the deck until he came to where Captain Berne stood, his Ghost Form glowing slightly in the unlit night.

  “You smell angry,” Berne said without turning. His arms were outstretched, as if he wanted to soak in as much of the sea air as possible. Strange, the senses he seemed to gain while in that form… Gribly was still in disbelief that he hadn’t revealed it beforehand.

  “I am,” he answered, and sat down. There was a hollowness in his chest. Why had he come this far, if only to fail?

  “Why?” That voice was Gram’s, not Berne’s. The Lord of Rogues slipped silently out of the shadows, massive war hammer hanging easily in his grip, black coat turned up at the collar to keep out the night’s chill. That reminded Gribly of how cold he really was now, and he shivered.

  “I’ve led us astray.”

  “What do you mean, Son?” Gram seemed slightly easier with the term. He sat beside his son on an outcropping of solid metal, almost a bench. The Invincible was a strange vessel, to be sure.

  “I… I’ve had a dream. From the Aura.”

  “Damnable spirits. Think they rule everything.” Gribly smiled, despite himself, but didn’t feel any better.

  “That’s not the point. And they don’t think that, they just… oh, never mind. But when Traveller warned me I was taking the wrong path… I think he was right.”

  Gram stiffened beside him. From his point of view, the Gray Aura had stolen his children and caused his wife’s death. “Backing out, Boy?” he said, voice deceptively quiet.

  “No! I don’t want this! But… but what I’ve seen… I can’t just leave Vastion to burn! All those people… I’m running away from my duty, Father, and yet… I love Elia, and can’t let her suffer, even if it’s for the good of the many! I don’t… know… what to do. I can’t think.” He put his forehead against the rough, knobbly end of Traveller’s staff, closing his eyes and grimacing, wishing he could sleep or die and forget about his “duty” forever.

  “I made that choice, long ago…” Gram said suddenly, seeming less angry than before. “The choice of duty. I abandoned… everything. I grieved because I had lost what I loved, and so I neglected the love that was still there…”

  “What?” Gribly opened his eyes and looked at the pirate king. Gram’s eyes were distant, and his plump face seemed drawn thin with memories of sorrow. In that glance, Gribly saw the man from Wanderwillow’s vision book: the one who had defied the Aura and the Creator, and sunk into a life of violence and crime because of it.

  But Gram knew he had done wrong. He knew it, somehow. He always had.

  “Father…” Gribly asked hesitantly, “Who were you?”

  Slowly, Gram turned his head to face his son. For a moment he did not answer, but then he seemed to break inside. His face grew even sadder. Then the moment passed, and he almost- almost- smiled. Standing, he took off his coat and draped it about Gribly’s shoulders. The thief stared numbly on, wondering what this new change meant. Gram sat down, sighing, his yellow shirt fluttering in the night wind.

  “It was ages ago, it seems. I was… what the lands would call a hero. It was to be I who led the hunt… the last, great hunt, to root out the final resistance of the Legion, many marches away on the heights of the Deathly Mount, in the land that now calls itself the Golden Nation.”

  “Wha…” Whatever Gribly had expected, it certainly was not this.

  “But… I strayed.” Gram seemed to be talking to himself now, hands gripping his hammer so tightly the white of his knuckles shone in the dark. “I was never the One, in my own mind. I was never the Prophet.”

  Gribly made a strangled noise, shocked. Berne seemed unaffected… he just kept staring forward, embracing the night sea. Gram continued.

  “I let myself fall for a woman, and then I forsook the Aura to spend my life with her, ignoring my duty…” Gram was shaking, and not from the cold. “It didn’t work. Not how I wanted. You can’t… can’t run from duty, any more than you can from love. Or hate. My choices… they came back to haunt me, in the end. The Pit took Alwene, and stole away my son… and even then, I didn’t repent… not when I lost you… I… just… Can’t!”

  The last word was a roar, as Gram leaped to his feet, shaking his hammer at the sky. Lightning flashed in a spider-web of light overhead, and Gribly felt a push on his mind, like he felt whenever entering the world of half-dreams that made up his nights, now. A slow fire was spreading through his veins, and with it a concussive, icy certainty. A knowledge, infused in his mind.

  The pieces fit.

  “You were supposed to save the world, Father. The Aura’s only picked me because you… you failed. And Gramling, who should have been here to help me all along, is now one of our worst enemies. You did all this!”

  He turned to his father, tears streaming down his face, but- curiously- he felt no anger… only sorrow. And weight. A heavy, heavy weight.

  “Yes…” whispered his father. “I have failed… not once, but twice. And now… now I can never make it up.”

  “No…” Gribly pulled himself off his seat, leaning on his staff for support. He felt so… old. So tired. “No. I see it now. I have a chance to make it all right. I thought I was nothing, in my old life. Just a thief, trying to get by. But now… now I see it was never meant to be that way. I’m meant to save us, like the Aura all say. But… I need you. The Creator… He must have put you in my path, just like he put Lauro, and Elia… exactly when I needed you most. One day… who knows? Perhaps even Gramling can be turned, and serve the Aura’s purpose once more.” Gram’s mouth opened in protest, but Gribly stopped him. “They’re not acting on their own, Father. Not Traveller, at least. They’re acting on behalf of the Creator… and He won’t go wrong!”

  “But… how do you know?” Gram whispered, humbled and looking beaten by his own tale.

  “Oh, I can feel it,” Gribly said. Suddenly, the spark of an idea began to flame in his mind. “I am the Prophet, you know. What you were meant to be… I am. It’s high time I started acting like it, don’t you think?”

  Gram stood still, not speaking. A minute or more passed, father and son staring each other down in the dark. Then:

  “Yes. I see. Lead, Son… and I… I will follow.”

  “Songs of the Creator,” Berne suddenly gasped, turning towards them. “There is a fell current in the water… as if…” The pirate nymph spun back, crouching and staring into the dark horizon, his misty form flickering and constantly re-forming, looking slightly different each time.

  “What could…?” Gram began, but Gribly cried out in pain and both men turned to look at him.

  “The staff!” He gritted through clenched teeth, “It’s burning… and I can’t let go!”

  “Ships…” Berne said quietly, beginning to change back into his First Form, blue coat swirling and anchorblade glimmering at his back. “I feel… dozens. Hundreds…” He paused, fully Nymph
again, then went on. “…and they’re all heading towards us, far faster than we’re going. It’s… it’s an invasion.”

  “What now?” Gribly was worried, but somehow, unsurprised, to see both of them looking to him for advice. Him! But he wasn’t just a street thief anymore… he was the Prophet.

  “We…” he bit back the bitterness of abandoning Elia to her fate, and forced himself to speak. “We can’t stop this… yet. We have to make for the Giant’s Isle- and Lauro- before it’s too late.”

  Berne nodded, and began to Change again. Gram bowed his head respectfully, acting like a totally different man. Gribly turned to go, to tell Karmidigan of what had occurred…

  …and found the Reethe nymph himself, along with most of the crew, standing at the hatch not far behind where he had sat. How much had they heard? How much had they seen?

  “We hear, and we obey, Lord Prophet,” Karmidigan swore, bowing deeply and clapping one fist to his chest. “Our will, our ship, and our Strides are yours.” Behind him, the rest of the crew imitated his bow and motion.