Golden Tide (Song of the Aura, Book Four)

by Gregory J. Downs

  All Gribly could think of was Elia’s face, right as she was sucked into whatever netherworld was contained in that horrible bone-white dagger.

  Chapter Nineteen: The Red Aura

  Long after the Aura’s words had faded, Lauro was still staring at the enormous chamber before him. He tried to drink it all in at once, and was almost overwhelmed. The sheer size of the Red Aura’s workshop was astounding… and terrifying.

  Bold red light illuminated the entire space from below and above. Lauro, Mudlo- and, it seemed, Steamclaw- stood on a wide, half-circle stone balcony, with the doors of stone closed tight behind them. From there outward, it was as if the Giant’s Mount was hollowed out entirely; beneath the balcony, the wall sheered down into unfathomable depths, and above, it stretched into an infinitely high domed ceiling, the point of which seemed always just out of Lauro’s vision.

  From the balcony, a wide, segmented, stone bridge led out for several hundred feet, where it ended at a circular platform that ran upward in ever-rising stairs, much like those outside. Three other bridges joined the platform at the points of the compass, forming a perfectly symmetrical cross. The platform in the middle was every bit as long as the bridges, and stretched down into the depths of the chamber, supported by a titanic pillar of whirring, clanking, spinning, chugging… machines, or rather, one huge machine.

  Four symbols were burned into the stone, one in each place where a bridge met the platform. Three of them, Lauro recognized as the ancient symbols for the Three Physical Elements: Sea, Stone, and Sky. But the fourth was hidden on the opposite side of the platform, and before he could wonder what it was a blast of heat hit him from below, and his wind senses went wild with the sensation. He gasped in shock, but not pain, and looked down. So far down, he could barely make it out, red and orange magma were flowing in circles around the central machine-pillar, letting off heat as if it had been released mere moments ago… which he suspected it had.

  “What… is… this… place…?” Mudlo croaked, seeming even more overwhelmed than Lauro.

  “Do you not recognize it?” boomed a voice from the center of the chamber. “It is the Forge of the Heavens! My workshop, and my home!”

  Then Lauro’s eyes were drawn again to the platform in the chamber’s center, and the dais at the top of the circular stairs. At the top sat an enormous throne, ten feet tall at its back, made entirely from mechanical parts that shone in polished hues of gold, black, and red. It had been turned away when they first entered, and so Lauro’s eye had slid over it without noticing, thinking it part of the scarlet blur of the chamber’s far side.

  But now the throne turned, slowly, humming with the sounds of a hundred turning gears, until it faced them directly. In it sat a man, or something like one, that simply defied description.

  Lauro had met two of the Aura in his questing. Traveller had been subdued, humble and quick to laugh, a traveler, as his name suggested, there to guide others along the paths of life and destiny. Wanderwillow had held a weightier might, but he had been limited to the form he had chosen, serving others from all different, diverse parts of Vast… and beyond.

  If Traveller had been a traveler, and Wanderwillow an innkeeper, then the Red Aura was a king.

  The Aura exuded confidence and power, enhanced by his enormous height and size, crowned with trappings better than King Larion himself, or any other monarch. Red armor covered every inch of the Aura, and a flowing white cape hung from his shoulders and draped down the throne under him, going on for several inches past his silver-booted feet. His body glowed- literally glowed- with energy, a scarlet shine that crackled with sheer power every time he shifted his weight. It was hard to tell from such a distance, but Lauro thought the Aura, Automo, he had called himself, wore some sort of silvery helm, or crown.

  Lifting one glowing hand, Automo beckoned. Lauro felt a surge of power within the chamber, a blending of all three elements that threatened to intoxicate him with its mere passing. So this was what the true power of an Aura could be.

  Eagerly, forgetting all his former hesitation and fatigue, Lauro tramped forward, across the balcony and onto the bridge, Steamclaw loping along ahead of him, Mudlo tagging behind, lagging slightly. As the prince walked between air and fire, spanning the enormous space, the Red Aura began to speak again, his voice at the same level no matter how close Lauro came.

  “Eleven there were, there are, there will be. Seven hold the Realm of Realms; Three, the Nation of Nations; One, the Distance In Between. Seven to feast; Three to protect; and One to bind the seams. Hear of the Aura, mortals of the Sceptre, and fear their might!”

  Hardly the kind of speech Lauro had expected. It sounded as if Automo was reciting a phrase of poetry… or prophecy. He kept on walking, strength growing with every step. Mudlo sucked in breath greedily behind him… the effect must be potent on them both.

  “Fate laid waste to the Wind King’s touch. The brother of a thief, the prophet of an age. The Fallen rise, the Risen die. The hand of Destiny bleeds, the heart of Mastery falters. Four to go, two to return. One to bleed, one to freeze, one to walk, one to crawl. Enemies are allies, when allies are dead.”

  Lauro shivered, but kept going. Mudlo was breathing hard behind him.

  “The Red King sits on his silver throne, deep in the heart of the reddest stone. The others together, the others will fall, save for the Red King in his Red Hall.”

  Steamclaw yelped, howled, and bounded the rest of the distance, coming to heel at Automo’s feet, groveling like a pet hound returned to its master.

  “The Forge of the Godlike a fire has wrought, seen through the prism of Fellsparks sought. The blade of the midnight from ashes shall rise, forged with the blood from the Soulsearcher’s eyes.”

  The Red Aura’s tone had changed. It sounded more commanding now… and more terrifying.

  “Why should we wait when the moment is ours? Why should we wait for the slaying of stars? Sea, Stone, and Sky will fall, the Day of Norne will break us all…”

  A sound like a thunderbolt rippled through the air, and Lauro found himself halting at the bottom of the stairs leading up to Automo’s throne. A sudden thought occurred to him, slicing through the haze around his mind.

  “You… your power, O Aura… why have you not stopped my kingdom from falling to the Golden Nation? Men are dying out there… and…” He cut off sharply, almost choking, as the condescending glance of the Aura grazed him. It felt entirely different than the encouraging gaze of the Brown or Gray Aura. Not evil, perhaps… but arrogant. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

  The Red Aura spoke again, and this time his voice was that of a normal person’s, though a bit metallic… almost like Steamclaw. “You came for a weapon, did you not, Prince of Men?”

  Lauro swallowed. So much power, just floating in the air, waiting for him to try to grasp it… waiting for him to fail, so it could crush him… what was going on?

  “Yes…” he said, hesitantly, then again, more confident. “Yes. I have come for the weapon the Gray Aura Traveller prophesied would save all of Vast.” His courage grew with each word. This had to be a test, the way following Steamclaw and racing to the Giant’s Mount had all been a test. He would not fail.

  “Traveller…” The Red Aura mused, rubbing the chin of his mask as if it were real. Bright blue eyes shone past the holes higher up, and they were riveted on Lauro. Absently, the Aura’s other hand scratched Steamclaw behind the head. Master and hound…

  “Please, O Aura,” Lauro said, hoping he was not assuming too much, “The fiends who assault Vastion have come all the way to your own doorstep. They are attacking the Giant’s Isle! We… we are out of time. If you must forge a weapon, the sooner the better.”

  “Out of time… indeed,” Automo said, considering. After what seemed an agonizingly long time, he nodded, having apparently come to a decision. Slowly he rose, regal and mighty, and stepped forward from his throne, a benevolent smile creasing his features. With a violent start
Lauro realized that the metal mask was not a mask at all… but a face. Automo’s skin was made of metal!

  The Aura can take any form, he remembered one of the clerics, probably Argoz, saying. Commonly they take the one that pleases them most… the one that most closely resembles their elevated True Forms.

  Traveller… a traveler. A human.

  Wanderwillow… a tree-nymph. Not an innkeeper at all.

  Automo… a machine. A bloody machine!

  “The weapon?” Lauro said, trying not to sound cowed.

  “I have already forged it,” Automo said gravely, “For I long predicted that such a time would come… after the First Failure. Behold!”

  The Red Aura thrust out a hand toward the glowing depths of the chamber beyond the platform. Fire and magma leaped up in a glittering, deadly arc, and lightning flashed from the ceiling. Heat blasted upward, swirling Automo’s great white cape…

  …and a glowing, white-hot sword materialized in the Aura’s outstretched hand. Automo closed his metal-gauntleted grip around the handle as if it did not hurt him at all, and swung it over his head in a flash of white and red, roaring a wordless battle cry. When the light-blindness retreated from Lauro’s vision, he gasped in astonishment.

  It was a greatsword, larger than any the prince had ever seen. The handle alone was nearly as long as the blades on his halfswords, and the blade was long, wide, and straight. The shock was its color: the entire weapon seemed to be crafted from the same substance, an ivory that suggested bones but seemed much harder and smoother. Where the curving double-crossguard met the handle, though, red-orange veins of some mysterious crystal wove up the blade on both sides, almost up to the tip, in a jagged pattern that seemed to glorify the violence and bloodshed of war without needing words or a voice.

  What in Vast, the Heavens, and the Blazes was that thing?

  “Behold!” roared Automo, “The Midnight Sword! Ker’junas! With this blade shall the pride of the Legion and the arrogance of the Aura be undone!”

  A ragged hiss escaped Mudlo’s lips. “It cannot be! We’ve been betrayed, my Prince!”

  Lauro almost jumped: in part because he had forgotten the ranger was still there, and in part because he suddenly, fearfully recognized where he had seen such a weapon before:

  …In the hands of Sheolus, the banished Golden Aura, when he stabbed Elia and tore her spirit out of the Otherworld.

  Chapter Twenty: What Friends Are For

  “No… you can’t be one of them!” Lauro shouted. “You can’t be one of the Legion! Traveller would never-” Steamclaw cut him off with a howl.

  “Traveller is a fool!” bellowed Automo, taking another step down the stairs. “He pulls the dreamstrings of Fate, telling Norne and the other Aura he can save Vast… but did he ever tell you that we were rebels? Did he tell you, Prince, that only three of the Aura thought your pitiful land worth saving? Three! Wanderwillow, Traveller, and me. We acted against the edict of the White Aura, Rham, and came here to cleanse the taint of the Legion forever! We thought we could do it the old way… with peace, and morals, spreading knowledge of the Creator! We. Were. Wrong!”

  Automo took another step. Lauro felt too surprised to move, to run or attack or even fall down and surrender. Could any of this be true?

  “Well, I have learned differently since then, Small One. The Gray and the Brown… they think they have discovered the Prophet, do they? Yes, I can see it in your memories. Traveller forbade such sight, but I see it nonetheless! They understand nothing.”

  “Then you are Legion, and you are a traitor to the Light!” screamed Mudlo, suddenly storming past Lauro angrily. The prince’s mouth moved soundlessly in horror as he tried to process the storm of new threats assembling in his mind.

  “NO!” shouted Automo, and Mudlo stopped in his tracks with a strangled sob. Lauro saw that he had been about to put a foot on the first step… and that his eyes were filled with tears. Were all the old beliefs wasted, then? Was the whole world, every prophecy and faith… a cheat?

  “No,” continued the Red Aura, quieter… but not by much. “I am not one of them. They swore their souls to darkness… I have merely refused to be bound by Dark or Light!” He gestured angrily with the Midnight Sword, and lightning crackled in the chamber’s roof.

  “It’s the same thing!” yelled Mudlo, putting a hand under his bulky coat for the fire-hurler he kept hidden there. Lauro pressed hands to his head, tearing at his shaven temples, trying desperately to make sense of what was happening.

  “Don’t try to use your Thunderbolt on me, Ranger,” sneered Automo. “I made it, and every one like it. Wanderwillow and his spies always wanted something for their little private war… so I gave them what I thought would best serve their causes. It won’t harm me an ounce!”

  Mudlo froze. Lauro let his hands drop, a horrible realization coming over him.

  “You… you’re the reason the Golden Nation is winning the war out there…” he said quietly. “You’ve been building these unearthly weapons for both sides… You caused this war in the first place!” His voice grew steadier- and angrier- as he went on, despite the utter hopelessness of the situation. “You’re not just a traitor to Vast… you’re a traitor to everyone!”

  “I will RULE everyone!” snapped Automo, flourishing Ker’junas in a flash of flame. “There is only one way to peace, Prince, and that is to rule! To put not just an island, or a sliver of the Otherworld under my direct sway, like those fools in Brown and Gray… entire peoples! Whole continents! Wherever the arrogant Aura have not turned their gaze, my rule will extend, and my power encompass!”

  “Like Sheolus,” Mudlo spat, knees wobbling from exhaustion, but face iron hard. “You’re just like him, even if you won’t admit it. You don’t even call yourself part of the Aura anymore! You’re just another… damned… demon!”

  Automo took another step down, opening his mouth in rage, then shut it suddenly, cocking his head as if he was being made to listen to a sound he did not like.

  Steamclaw growled, and got up from where it had lain at the side of Automo’s throne. Its eyes blazed with fury at its master’s enemies. I knew not to trust that blasted creature! Lauro thought.

  “You have no further purpose,” Automo snarled suddenly. Lauro laughed out loud, totally without humor.

  “Why did you send your hell-hound for us in the first place, Traitor? What purpose could we possibly serve?”

  The Red Aura grimaced, as if listening to that unheard sound again. “You were needed. Traveller pulls the threads of Destiny, still. The Prophet must be the first to hold Ker’junas, it was written in dreams… and so it had to be. But Fate has loosened since then… your own arrival in place of the Prophet proves that. With… with what I have been… com- told, I now have the proof I need. You’ve broken your destiny, Lauro Vale, and the destinies of countless others. The old prophecies mean nothing, now.”

  Lauro felt like dying, just curling up and letting himself go, just then. But instead he spat at the Red Aura’s feet, willing himself to harden beyond call and bear the burden, at least until he could repair the damage his path had done. Will I never regain Honor? Does it even matter?

  “Then kill me, Traitor of the Heavens! Be done with it!” Lauro glared at Automo with as much venom as he could muster in the face of boundless fear.

  “I… cannot interfere so far. Not yet,” the Red Aura sneered. “Fate is unraveling, but it is not destroyed… yet.” He began to glow with a blinding internal light, the color and shade of blood on ice. Lauro shaded his eyes against the glare, as did Mudlo. “But I have no need, Small Ones! My pets will be your bane!”

  “No!” shouted someone through the roaring wind and heat that ripped through the air like an invisible storm. Lauro couldn’t tell if it had been himself, or the ranger.

  “My Red Hall will be your grave!” roared Automo, as the wind itself began to catch fire around the would-be heroes. “The forge of Automo, first god among the spirits of the Aura, will
be your doom!”

  “NO!” screamed someone, and this time Lauro knew it was himself. With a titanic effort he managed to bow his head against the storm of fire and wind around him, reaching for the handles of his halfswords at the same time.

  Fool! Something inside him screamed. Sky Stride! Don’t fight… STRIDE!

  Without thinking, Lauro reacted, pulling his blades from their sheathes and whipping them in the direction of Automo’s flickering, insubstantial form. He lashed out with his mind, heedless, and heard a sharp, anguished cry from the firestorm that Automo was becoming. He had attacked the traitor Aura, Sky Striding with his mind!

  Lightning flashed along the blades of his weapons, striking at the heart of the storm…

  …but it was too late. With a crackle and a flash, Automo was gone, and with him the rest of the firestorm. The platform was deathly quiet. Lauro tensed, ready for battle anyway, his blades glowing blue with the energy of Sky. Everything has changed…