“What do I need to do, master?”
The eyes returned to emerald. “Inconceivable as it might seem, it will take more effort to break free of this place than it did to go back in time. So you must first expand your connection to the heart stones. You will need either a deeper bond with the passive cylinders or a connection to both the active and passive stones. After that, we will proceed to the next step. That will only require your knowledge of how to work the gates.”
Turesobei took a few deep breaths, closed his eyes, and opened his mind.
The passive stones, hosting the souls of the Blood King’s most zealous followers, remained receptive since Turesobei knew the feeling of having to sacrifice someone who loved him in order to accomplish a greater goal. For Turesobei the goal wasn’t to attain power, but the difference apparently didn’t matter.
To switch the allegiance of a stone, he had to get the soul of every sacrificed follower within a cylinder to side with him. He had no idea what the Blood King had promised the sacrificial volunteers within the passive stones. If even one soul in a stone remained content with their decision to give their life for to the Blood King, it would ruin the attempt. And he probably only had a single chance to break the stones before Lord Gyoroe figured out what he was up to.
The unreceptive active stones contained the souls most likely to aid him, since they hadn’t volunteered. But he had no idea how to get the active cylinders themselves to interact with him. He just couldn’t understand the mindset that had constructed those stones, so he couldn’t reach out to them with the proper emotional state.
The active stones had been created through murder, solely for acquiring power. Turesobei struggled with the necessity of killing to defend his own people and their homeland. Ending another life out of greed was an entirely alien concept for him, and he could never imagine the emotions it would involve.
He groaned. Why was he always in over his head? Why did this sort of thing keep happening to—
That was it! He would deal with it the way he always handled situations where he was in over his head. He would call on Chonda Lu’s experiences.
While to his knowledge Chonda Lu had never killed anyone solely for power, he had caused great suffering in order to exact a terrible revenge on at least one enemy: Motekeru. Though he hadn’t been slain, Motekeru’s life had essentially been stripped away. And then he had been transformed into an eternal servant, suffering the whims of a cruel master—just as the souls within the stones had been bound, without their consent, to serve the Blood King for all time.
So maybe if Turesobei channeled his inner Chonda Lu the same way that he did when he cast Kaiaru spells, he could draw on the kavaru's memories.
He reached out telepathically to the stones, trying to conjure Chonda Lu’s feelings when he’d created Motekeru. To his surprise—and then horror—the kavaru brought it all to him vividly.
Dark anger seethed through him, fueled by a twisted need for vengeance. He had to make his enemy feel all the pain he felt and more—far more. Images flashed in his mind: a wizard’s workshop splattered with blood…a man with his arms and legs hacked off, the wounds cauterized…runes carved into the remaining flesh…deep brown eyes open and alert…a hot, silver blade slicing into those eyes….
Successive waves of revulsion struck Turesobei, or rather Chonda Lu. He could have killed this man like so many other enemies. Instead of a swift, merciful end, he could have tortured him for a while. But this…this went far beyond that. He had inflicted two weeks of torturous spell preparations and surgeries upon Motekeru. He could still end it. He didn’t have to go through with it.
But he believed the only hope he had of relieving the pain in his heart was by suffering that, and so much more, upon Motekeru. The satisfaction of revenge would make things right. And he would gain a powerful servant. Never again would he have to send one he loved into danger and suffer the tragic consequences of doing so.
Choking back the bile rising into his throat, Turesobei reached out to the active stones, and finally they responded to him.
“At last!” Lord Gyoroe said. “Maintain the connection while I again prepare the chain and the circlets to link us together.” Eyes bright blue, Gyoroe clapped his hands gleefully. “My long imprisonment soon shall end!”
Turesobei blocked out the sights and emotions from Chonda Lu’s past, wishing he could forget them completely.
Now he had to make contact with the souls inside, and fast.
The tricky part was that he needed to speak effectively with hundreds of different souls who had long been cut off from the world. Trapped in a formless limbo, it would be difficult for them to interact with their fellow inmates, much less an outsider.
Turesobei needed to give form and substance to their formless existence. And it would be best if he only had to speak with a single representative entity. Unfortunately, the Blood King’s haste didn’t leave Turesobei much time to conjure a specific image and voice for the bound souls. He would have to simply trust his subconscious imagination to do the job.
But he was ready for this. Grandfather Kahenan had taught him what was considered a peculiar and unlikely philosophy. “At the most basic level, spell effects, even summoned demons, are nothing more than thoughts and emotions given physical form—if not by you then by someone else.”
Considering what Turesobei had learned of the origin of magic, that was entirely accurate.
Turesobei formed a hand into the mudra of connecting thought. Then using as much of his inner kenja as he could risk without attracting attention, he envisioned and mentally activated the runes for making known the unknown and giving form to the formless. Finally, he telepathically projected himself toward the active heart stone of Autumn, which seemed the most receptive.
His kenja spiked, and his vision dimmed. For a few moments he couldn't see, hear, or feel anything.
Just as he edged toward panic, his senses returned, and he found himself standing on an icy plain in the Ancient Cold and Deep.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Turesobei scanned the area, but found nothing more than a barren waste of ice and drifting snow. Of all the places his mind could have led him to, why here?
“What do you want from us?” asked a small, sweet voice.
He spun around and gasped. The collected souls had taken the form of an eight-year-old girl in a simple robe, with her limbs exposed to the cold but unharmed by it. The Winter Child. She stood a dozen paces away, her ice-blue eyes fixed strangely upon him, as if she were trying to stare through him and see into his soul. The wound where Awasa had plunged Sumada through the girl’s chest gaped open. Blood still trickled from the marks on her throat, where Awasa had bitten deep to drink her blood.
Was it guilt that had brought him here to face her? Or were the souls within the heart stone testing him? Perhaps they demanded an answer for this atrocity he was, in part, responsible for. Perhaps he demanded it of himself.
“I have come to seek your aid against the Blood King,” Turesobei said.
“The one who forced us upon his altars and shed our blood?”
“The very same.”
“You are his apprentice,” the copy of the Winter Child said.
“Only because I had no other choice. I reject the terrible crimes he committed against you and countless others.”
“You are Chonda Lu,” the child declared. “You created the slave Motekeru.”
“That wasn’t me. I didn’t do that.”
“Lies,” the child countered. “We saw the terrible truth when you connected to our prison.”
“I am closely linked with Chonda Lu, but he and I are not the same. I would never do such a thing. I embraced those memories from his kavaru so that I could connect with the heart stone you inhabit, but only so that I could come here and speak to you. I desperately need your help.”
“You wish only to bind us. To make his power your own. We will not trade one master for another.”
“I don’t want power.”
“More lies. Every man craves power.”
“I swear I’m telling the truth,” he argued. “I do not covet power, especially if it was gained through blood sacrifices. I only ask that you help me stop him. Not for revenge, and not for my sake nor even for the sake of my friends, but for the world. Otherwise millions more like you soon will suffer.”
“What does it matter to us if the world suffers? We are far removed from that cruel place.”
“Please, I beg you.”
“With power comes corruption.”
“I’m not even going to keep the power. I’m going to use it to destroy the stones. Your souls will then be free.”
“We do not believe you.”
“Look, I have always had power, though I have never wanted it. And I have always used it for the good of others, to the best of my ability.”
The child shook her head sadly. “We do not trust you.”
“Search my thoughts then,” Turesobei said boldly. “I will open myself to you completely, so that you may see the truth of who I am.”
The Winter Child peered at him with her head cocked at a funny angle. “You will give us access to your mind…your memories…your soul? You trust us that much?”
“I trust in the rightness of my actions.”
The child approached him. “Are you sure? It is not wise to open one’s self to another, much less to we who are many.”
Suppressing his fear, Turesobei swallowed and nodded. “I will do whatever it takes to stop the Blood King. I open myself to you.”
The child stood on her tiptoes and touched his forehead. A piercing cold burrowed deep into his mind. His link with the active Autumn heart stone faltered a moment…but it held.
The pain departed, leaving him gasping for breath.
“You are a good person—truly,” the child said with an appreciative nod. “And honorable. On that we agree.”
“So you will help me?”
“We are sorry, but no. We cannot fight him. He is our master, and we are bound to him forever.”
“You saw into my mind! You know his claim on the heart stone is no less than your own.”
“Maybe, but we are weak—too weak. Long have we existed without hope. And without hope, we have faded. We no longer remember our homes, our friends, our families. Even the simple pleasures of life, like food and drink, are meaningless to us now. It is those things that give you strength, but the loss of those things makes us…less than human.”
“But there are so many of you! United you would be strong.”
“Our will to resist was stripped from us ages ago,” the child lamented. “It is our fate to remain here.”
“But if we succeed you will at last move on to the afterlife. You will be free.”
“Free to do what? To die? We have not even names anymore. What is freedom to those without identity?”
“Well….” Turesobei struggled to find the right argument. He had shown them everything they needed to know, yet they couldn’t understand it.
The child stepped away and began to fade into the frozen white expanse. “We are sorry that we cannot help you, Chonda Turesobei. Though many, we the nameless are too insignificant. We wish you luck.”
Turesobei groaned with frustration. This had been such a waste of effort. Now he must choose another stone and hope he had time to convince the souls within it to help, before Lord Gyoroe was ready for the next step. But this stone and the souls within had seemed to him the most receptive. Would the result be any different with another stone? All of them teemed with souls without hope…without bravery…without identity…nameless…
Nameless! Turesobei pumped his fist into the imaginary arctic air. That was it!
“Wait!” he cried, rushing toward her. “I know how to make you strong.”
The child stopped fading. “How?”
“I have given you a single form, here in this place, to make it easier for us to interact, but the truth is that you are still many nameless individuals. What if I could bind all of you together into one entity and give you a name? One name, one being…until death.”
The child’s form again solidified, and her eyes lit with desire. “An identity…for us?”
“If you want.”
“We agree!” the child said eagerly. “We want a name again! What name will you give us?”
Turesobei scratched his chin and paced, his mind rapidly flitting through lists of potential names. He was running out of time, but he couldn’t choose just any name. He had to pick the right one, a perfect one. The meaning of a name, especially in a situation like this, was of the utmost importance. What name…what name….
“Noboro!” he said. “That was the name of my father, who died to save me. His was an old name, a good name. It means free to wander.”
“Noboro?” The child bobbed her head. “Yes, that is a good name. We will take this name from you.”
“Excellent. Then we shall stand together against the Blood King.”
The Winter Child’s face creased into a deep, worried frown, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “But…it’s not so easy as that. Named or unnamed, still we fear him. We are too afraid to stand up against him.”
Another problem? Turesobei restrained a cry of frustration and maintained his cool. “Once I formally give you the name, I think you will see things differently.”
“We think not,” she said, “for you do not understand. We died afraid—all of us. Fear is all we have left. Therefore, we are fear itself.”
Turesobei smiled and went immediately to his second choice of names. “Then I will also name you Torituro, which means fearless. The names Noboro and Torituro will become part of your identity.”
She bounced on her heels. “You will make us fearless and free to wander?!”
“Yes, I will.”
Beside the Winter Child the image of Narbenu, his deceased goronku rescuer and guide, suddenly appeared. “We, the souls of the active heart stone of the Winter Realm, shall take this name, too.”
And then the specter of Kemsu also emerged from Turesobei’s subconscious. “We, the souls of the active heart stone of the Spring Realm, have heard your plea. We shall take this name as well.”
And last, the ghost of his father materialized. “We, the souls of the active heart stone of the Nexus, shall proudly stand together and join you in battle against the Blood King.”
Turesobei choked back his emotions at the sight of his father, standing before him, appearing exactly as he had in life. Then he went to work, hoping the two spells he needed but had never before cast would function properly in this spirit realm and do the trick.
Turesobei cast the spell of binding diverse entities, normally used only to combine tiny spirits or demons before banishing them, and extended it to bind together the souls within each stone aiding him. Having already given form to the formless made it much easier.
The spell left him light-headed and nearly breathless, but he had no time to rest. The binding would fail within moments if he didn’t give them an identity. He employed a simple spell normally used only at childbirth: the incantation of naming one unnamed. With that he formally gave the sacrificed spirits the names Noboro and Torituro.
The eyes of all four burned bright as they spoke in unison. “We—Noboro Torituro—are slaves no longer. Our allegiance we give to you, Chonda Turesobei. Let us do battle against the Blood King and show him that we are strong!”
Turesobei shook his head. It was amazing how souls that were cowering in fear a few minutes ago were now so eager to do battle.
“I must leave now,” he said. “Next time I connect with you, that’s when we will strike. Until then be brave and do not let the Blood King know that you have changed.”
“We shall be brave and strong until you return, for we are Noboro Torituro. We are fearless. We are free.”
Turesobei bowed to them, his eyes lingering for a moment on the image of his father, then he ended the
connection. His mind returned to his body just as Lord Gyoroe was placing the silver circlet on his head. Judging from Gyoroe’s still gleeful expression, he hadn’t noticed what Turesobei was up to.
Grasping at his temples, Turesobei cried out, severed the connection to the stones, and collapsed to the floor. Unfortunately, he wasn’t faking it. The effort to connect to the stones then improvise and mentally cast the spells needed had drained him. Besides, he hadn’t had enough rest after ghosting back in time. He did, however, add a little drama to make himself seem even more tired than he was.
“Get up!” the Blood King roared, his eyes igniting into scarlet flames. “Restore the connection!”
“Can't…master…too exhausted….”
“Your connection to the stones was perfect. It should have become effortless!”
“I told you…I needed more rest. All those battles…ghosting back…too much.”
Lord Gyoroe’s eyes narrowed to yellow slits. He studied Turesobei for several long minutes, allowing him to gain his breath, then asked, “How did you finally connect with the active stones?”
Turesobei decided a partial truth would make the best lie. “Out of nowhere, I had a vision of Chonda Lu, an echo from my kavaru. I saw how he created Motekeru and realized that to create anything truly great you must be willing to make huge sacrifices.”
“So finally you understand.”
“More than that,” he said, continuing to slouch and gasp for air. “I now understand what it means to be Kaiaru. And I can’t get the images of the great city out of my mind. I want to see it rebuilt. If restoring the Kaiaru takes a few sacrifices along the way, then so be it.”
Nodding, Gyoroe smiled wide, his eyes changing to pale blue. “At last you see that I am not the madman you thought but a true visionary who understands that nothing can be made of lasting worth without paying the cost.”
“Yes…I do,” Turesobei tried to reply with fervor.
“You have one day to rest, apprentice.”
“Master, I need more than that.”
“Tomorrow evening then.”
The First Kaiaru Page 35