Golden Tide (Song of the Aura, Book Four)

by Gregory J. Downs

  “They call me the Waterpike,” the man said, fingering the blue hoop in his left ear as if it were a badge of some past honor. “Danner Waterpike.”

  “Well, Danner,” Lauro said, trying not to collapse suddenly from exhaustion, “Let’s find another to save… and another… and another. One by one, we’ll build this army of rogues back up, and re-take this island.”

  ~

  Traveller’s staff led Gribly to a hollow stone sphere; a chamber like the one under the Swaying Willow, but much larger. He nodded grimly, having expected as much, and let the staff’s light show him what lay within.

  Three stone blocks, as before… and one of them occupied. Automo, the great Red Aura, lay on the centermost block, eyes closed, his huge body at least twelve feet long when laid out flat. Or so he chooses to appear, Gribly reminded himself. For a split second he was tempted to ram Traveller’s staff between the traitorous Aura’s eyes… but he knew that would not kill Automo, now. Only in the Otherworld could a being of that sort be permanently harmed.

  Blast… I daren’t enter now, not so close to him… and especially not when he’s probably conversing with Sheolus in the Otherworld, being manipulated like the helpless madman he is. No… killing was neither prudent nor moral, here. But if the staff had not led him here to slay, or to enter the Otherworld through Automo’s Stoneheart… then why had he been led here?

  “Gribly,” Gram called from behind, softly as he was able, “Look at his weapon. The sheer size of the thing! I don’t know if even I could use it!”

  The weapon! Of course. Gribly shone his staff directly over the slumbering Aura, hoping the light would not wake him. Clasped in Automo’s hands, running from his broad chest to the tops of his thick knees, was the strangest sword Gribly had ever seen… and he had stolen some lovely ones in his life in Ymeer.

  Stealing! Of course! Though, it’s not really stealing, since it should be ours in the first place.

  He had been brought here to steal back the weapon Automo had stolen. The thing that would unite all Vast, and stop the tide of the Golden Nation. Could it be done? Had the visions lied, or left something out?

  “He’s holding it,” Gribly whispered hoarsely to his father. The big man hefted his hammer. “No!” the young prophet hissed. “Not that way! It won’t work on his kind. I’ve just got to…”

  Slipping his fingers deftly under the Aura’s, Gribly licked his lips and got to work. No one had been a better pickpocket than he, back in the sunny days of his thieving life. If he could just stop his hands from sweating… He tossed the staff to his father, who caught it in his free hand, holding it overhead to give Gribly the best light possible.

  Nimble fingers went to work, slippery hands beginning to pry the grip from the sword handle. It was more than tricky, working with a weapon that could tear your spirit apart, or suck you in, like it had Elia, or do Creator-knew-what else… but after a minute of tedium, Gribly whistled softly under his breath.

  “Victory to the silent,” Gram breathed in awe over him. Gribly bent into a crouch, carefully lifting the huge white sword free.

  He had stolen the Red Aura’s blade right out from under the traitor’s very nose… and Automo hadn’t even noticed!

  “Quick, now,” Gribly said, strapping the sword to his back and taking his staff back from Gram. The two had come prepared from the ship, with the best gear of thievery anyone could want. “Let’s get away before he sense something’s wrong from the Otherworld and tries to get back at us.”

  “Indeed,” Gram agreed, and they both turned to go…

  …just as the Red Aura groaned in his “sleep,” the fingers on his empty sword-hand twitching. An undecipherable string of power-laden words came from his mouth, in a language Gribly couldn’t begin to understand.

  But he didn’t feel like staying to try. The next moment he was fleeing back up the passage, loot on his back, tailed closely by his father.

  “Good times again, eh Son?” the bulky pirate whispered, grinning in the strange light of the glowing staff.

  “Good times,” Gribly repeated, trying to force a grin of his own past the fear. “Good, good, blasted good times…”

  ~

  Night fell, as Lauro and a group of fifty ragtag rogues found themselves holding the very peak of the Giant’s Mount. Light flashed as Pit Striders hurled fire at the prince’s group, and was extinguished just as quickly as the Sea Striders rained hail from above. Golden-armored beasts tried again and again to reach the rocky peak, but Stone Striders hurled boulders and sent landslides down again and again, beating back the tide.

  But they were losing, steadily and surely. The prince paced restlessly, even when the fighting lulled for a brief moment.

  “Have I really broken Fate itself?” Lauro wondered aloud, striding back and forth along the open space where Stone Striding from a few rare bandit men had leveled the peak to make a more defensible position. “It would make sense… nothing has been as it should on this journey… and now, at the bitter end, Gribly has yet to even show his face.”

  Suddenly stone shards flew up in all directions as something, or someone burst from the ground beside him. Lauro whirled, his sword ready for battle, but he found himself staring at none other than the Prophet himself, and Gram, Lord of Rogues.

  “You called?” Gribly said, grinning.

  The ground rumbled beneath the clustered remnant of the rogue force. Red lights flickered in the night sky above.

  “Please tell me you did that, too?” Lauro said. The grimaces Gribly and his father shared told him otherwise.

  “That’s… who we’ve been running from for a few hours now. Underground, and all… You’d be surprised what it does for one’s constitution.” Gribly was obviously nervous, from the pathetic humor he’d begun spouting. Lauro blanched, cursing as pirates gathered hesitantly around the newcomers.

  “It’s Automo, isn’t it? The Red Aura? Blast him…”

  “No!” Gribly had been trying to say. “Don’t! Naming him tells him where you…”

  “…are,” Gram finished, sighing as if over-tired; which he was. They all were.

  The peak rumbled again, and men fell to their knees from the earthquake.

  “Here comes…” Gribly said. “May as well end it here, with friends…”

  “And friends you have!” called Captain Berne, striding into view of Gribly’s glowing staff, his bloodied anchorblade slung across one shoulder. Karmidigan joined him, icy claws crusting over his fingers and hands. There was blood on those, too.

  “We stand with you, Lord Prophet,” the Reethe nymph said, bowing.

  Then, slowly, every last rogue who had survived the bloody battle of the Giant’s Isle bowed, too… even those who had already been tossed to the ground.

  Gribly drew himself up, and Lauro thought that he saw a new confidence burning in the prophet’s eyes. He believed in his own destiny, now, even if destiny was no longer sure for anyone.

  The sky and earth were shaking as if they fought to tear each other asunder.

  “Lauro,” Gribly said, “I have the sword.”

  He had the… Oh, Aura’s Might…

  Then a storm of burning rain, flaming wind, and molten rock descended on the peak of the Giant’s Mount. Everything flashed white as Gribly raised his staff to deflect it. Lauro noticed offhandedly that his friend’s eyes were streaming white light.

  “He’s going to sweep us off the bloody mountain!” Lauro screamed over the wind to Gribly.

  “DIE, DEFIERS OF AUTOMO!” roared a voice from everywhere and nowhere. Men were screaming and burning and dying. Karmidigan’s coat had coat fire, and his Sea Striding was too worn out to quench the blaze. Lauro, Gram, and everyone on the peak was forced to his knees under the shield of… of Nothing that Gribly had suddenly created out of thin air to guard them and stop the Aura’s fury.

  “No,” came the once-thief’s voice. It was quiet but sure. “No.”

  The world flashed white: white-hot, whi
te-bright, white-pain, white-noise.

  Epilogue: The Dire Spark of Hope

  Gribly knew nothing, except that he had stopped what needed to be stopped, and that he had taken his friends, who had sacrificed so much, to a place where they would be free of Automo’s wrath.

  Of himself? He neither knew nor cared. But…

  Be at peace, my Son.

  “Gram? Father?” he whispered into the whiteness, trying not to cry. Where was he, and why did he feel like a little child again?

  You know My Name. You have always, always known My Name.

  The whiteness turned to gray, then green, then a myriad of wildly vibrant colors as his vision retuned.

  He was standing on the top of a green hill, overlooking a pale, misty marsh in the morning. There was an army, marching wearily through that marsh, clothes and armor bloodied and rent, hair and beards in tangled, dirty locks, weapons in disarray. But they walked proudly, and at their head was a woman with yellow-white hair and one hand. Behind her was a man with the same face as she, who carried two swords at his belt and wore what had once been a white cape.

  They were close enough to see him now. The man frowned, as if he were impeding the way, but the woman gasped and ran the rest of the distance to meet him.

  “You…” she said hesitantly, “You’re the one. I know it. I knew my dream was not wrong.” She turned back to the man leading the battered army. Gribly thought he would be sick from exhaustion. “You are the Prophet, are you not, Boy?” she asked.

  “Y… yes,” he said. “But please…”

  “I am Karanel Winter,” the woman said, putting out her arm- the one with the hand- for him to grasp in friendship. “I command the army of Vastion since the tragic disappearance of our king. And you are called…?”

  “Gribly,” Gribly answered, looking back over his shoulder at the place where men in pirate garb had begun to stumble out of the mist, looking dazed and disoriented. “But, please, my Lady… could you see to my men? I’ve just brought them… well, a very long way, and… and…”

  Before he could finish, Gribly toppled forward into the woman, unconscious. She caught him as best she could, calling back over her shoulder. “Marvol! Brother, come quickly! This lad needs healing! And he has men with him… men who’ve fought the Golden Nation, by the looks of them!”

  The man ran up as fast as he could, tired troops loping along behind him. Bending down, he took the sleeping boy from his sister. “Will of the Aura, Karanel… where did they all come from? We’re on the northern edge of the White Marshes!”

  “I don’t know,” Karanel Winter sighed, gazing at the gaggle of men and nymphs who had begun to hit the grass on the far side of the hill, falling asleep one by one as unexpectedly as Gribly had. “But I have a feeling the answer will be worth our time.”

  “Is anything worth it anymore, in this Creator-forsaken land?” Marvol’s voice was bitter, though he handled the exhausted youth with care.

  Karanel turned to gaze intently at the curious white sword strapped to the young Prophet’s back.

  “Yes,” she said after a pause. For the first time in a long, long time… she smiled. “I believe there is.”

  To Be Continued…

  CAST of CHARACTERS in SONG OF THE AURA

  Allfar: One of the legendary Aura. Not much is known of him, but he is commonly associated with Wind and Sky elements, in the old rites. Spectansis is his Nymphtongue name.

  Alwene: Mother of Gramling and Gramlen, wife of Gram. She died in the first burning of the Gray Cathedral.

  Amarand: The cleric of the Zain tribe, and master to Variand, the Zain scribe.

  Argoz Greenwood: The Cleric of Ymeer. Also succeeded Ymorio Highfast as the Dunelord of Ymeer.

  Arlin: Leader of the northern rangers, who lost both his legs below the knee in a skirmish with the M’tant. His wife is Daslite, one of the women rangers.

  Armir: One of the elder rangers under Arlin’s command.

  Aura, The: Eleven ancient spirits sung into being by the Creator when he fashioned the world. They are the guardians of the many races inhabiting Vast and the lands beyond; however, in recent days belief in their existence has wavered. They now rarely show themselves to mortals, and only three have been reported to still frequent Vast at all: The Gray Aura, the Brown Aura, and the Red Aura.

  Automo: The Red Aura. While the Gray Aura is known for his control over dreams, and the Brown Aura for his love of growing things, the Red Aura is known for his mastery of machines and artifice.

  Avarine: Daughter of the Tannarch (ruler of the M’tant nymphs). She is an outcast in her own society, partially because of her rare scarlet hair, inherited from her human mother. She is a Spirit Strider of no small talent, and utilizes poisoned weapons to hunt. She makes no pretense of the fact that she is attracted to Lauro Vale; nor does he deny his own mutual feelings.

  Avarine Hallifar: Mother of Avarine, bearing the same name as her daughter. As one of the Tannarch’s mistresses, she was totally ostracized from Wood Nymph society. She bears the same last name as the fabled Byornleo Hallifar, though their exact relation is not known.

  Avtar: A silverguard of Ymeer, who accompanies Gribly and Lauro on their journey to the Inkwell. Presumably killed in a Sea Demon attack.

  Bernarl: A Zain ship’s captain and former pirate, once an ally of the mysterious King Gram, the Lord of Rogues. Possibly the only exception to the general lacking among the Zain of a Second Form. Commonly called “Berne” by his friends and allies. He wields an anchorblade in combat and has survived many “deaths” due to his quick thinking and survival instincts.

  Bonedale: A dark falconhorse, raised in the pits of Blast.

  Bwether: Master of the Haedi working under Wanderwillow at the Swaying Willow inn. He was presumably killed when the inn burned to the ground.

  Byornleo “Byorne” Hallifar: One of the oldest and deadliest rangers, and a friend to Old Murie. He frequented the fight pits of Ymeer, where he was known as “Longstrider.” His fighting prowess put him at the top of the pack, and in a perfect position to spy for Vastion. He was killed by Gramling, the Pit Strider.

  Calloway: Also known as “Cal.” He is a young boy of the Grymclaw’s South Village, who gave vital aid to Gribly and Elia in their time of need.

  Cramner: A young boy of South Village, and friend of Calloway.

  Creator, The: The God of all worlds, Whom is responsible for the world of Sceptre and everything in it: Vast, Realm, Rune, Nation, and all the lands beyond.

  Crutus: A bouncer at the Old Pickpocket’s wine-shop, who also deals in the slave trade. He is the brother of Shele, a fight pit contestant.

  Danner Waterpike: A southern sea-rogue lord who has now sworn allegiance to King Gram, Lord of Rogues.

  Daslite: One of the few women rangers, and Arlin’s extremely devoted wife.

  Donovan: An Elder of South Village.

  Elia: A Sea Nymph female of the Treele Tribe. She is an incredibly powerful Sea Strider, with a unique ability: she can Stride Flame as well. Her fate is as of yet unknown, due to her capture at the hands of Sheolus and Gramling.

  Gando: One of the more violent rangers under Arlin’s command.

  Golden One, The: Master of Pit Striders. Confirmed to be an escaped member of the Legion.

  Gram: Self-styled Pirate King of South Vast, also known as the Lord of Rogues. He is the father of Gribly and Gramling, two of the most powerful Striders in the world. He is the founder and ruler of the Alliance, a loosely-bound brotherhood of miscreants spread throughout Vast. His Stone Striding is increased tenfold with the use of his mighty war hammer, which was forged by the Red Aura himself.

  Gramling: A Pit Strider, and brother to Gribly. His master, the mysterious Golden One, originally tasked him with either converting or killing the young thief. When he failed to do this, he was brought back to the Golden Nation for an unknown purpose. His fate is questionable.

  Gribly: A street thief, formerly of Ymeer. He has manifested e
xtraordinary abilities in Stone Striding, and is rumored to be the Prophet of the Aura. He is revealed to have originally been named Gramlen by his mother, Alwene, and his father, Gram. He is one of the few beings in all history able to Stride Spirit in addition to his natural World Element.

  Kalzikir: The M’tant cleric. Due to his failure in converting the wood-nymphs, the nymph man suffers from deep depression and melancholy, leading many to suspect he has lost his mind. His control over the element of Spirit is very weak as a consequence.