“By your expression, I can see you understand our plight. It’s yours now, too.”
The words came as a shock to Ancel. He’d never thought of it that way. This entire time, he’d considered himself as someone with a talent, yes, but not as an Eztezian. Well, wasn’t that what you were being trained for? To become one of them? How do I handle all this? He could barely manage his emotions concerning Irmina, much less the near overwhelming situation with his mother and his father.
Immediately, his concern for them threatened to drown him. Where was Irmina now? Was she somewhere being punished by the Tribunal? And Kachien? Had she managed to lead the other Eldanhill refugees away safely? What of Mother … and Da … He nolonger sensed his mother within the pendant. He licked his suddenly dry lips. “I-I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”
“No one is ever ready. If I had my way, you would stay here until you had a full grasp of your Etchings and control over your emotions, but time is something we don’t have. For now, I’ll recite the Tenets that correlate with the strongest of my Etchings since one of yours matches mine. Then, I’ll teach you the next one you are strongest in.”
“What determines their strength?”
“Two things. One, similar to us, netherlings are generally more adept in one essence or another. They can use others, but as with humans, there is one essence to which they have an affinity. That determines the type of Etching they imbue into an Eztezian.”
“And the second thing?”
“I was getting to that,” Ryne said with a smile. “Number two is your own lineage. Although there has been much intermingling of races, a bloodline from the original Matii can often be traced in his or her strongest essence.”
Ancel frowned, thinking. “Mine is light right, like any Ashishin.”
“No,” Ryne said. “And that’s another thing. Over the years, the title Ashishin has become commonly applied to any Matus who can Forge. That wasn’t always so. There were actually twelve different types of Matii, each representing an essence and the gods associated with them.”
“Twelve?” Ancel pursed his lips, and then he began to count off on his fingers as he spoke. “Ilumni, Amuni, Bragni and Rituni, the gods of Streams. Humelen, Liganen and Kinzanen, the god and goddesses of Forms. Hyzenki and Aeoli, the god and goddess of Flows. I guess I would need to add Annendin, the One God, but he’s supposed to represent all the elements in one isn’t he?” He frowned as Ryne nodded. “Are the others two minor gods?”
“No,” Ryne said. “The god’s name is Entopi, he represents life and death.”
“Sela,” Ancel added.
“Yes. The Entoses were named after him.”
“Do you know what happened to all the other Matii?”
“No, I don’t, but stories predating even myself say that some left to populate other worlds in the Omniverse, setting themselves up as gods. But that’s a lesson for another day. Of the gods, there’s a race of Matii derived from each. Here in Granadia, where the Ashishin have ruled for so long, you tend to see mostly their affinity for light within the people. There are signs of others to a lesser extent, as a result of the original Tribunal’s founders and of course from those who emigrated from foreign lands.”
“Like us, the Setian,” Ancel added.
“Exactly.”
“So who are the ancestral Matii of the Setian?”
“The Alzari, among the strongest Matii, able to wield the Forms and the Streams.”
Ancel gasped. Ever since the day when Jillian referred to Kachien as Alzari, he’d wondered about the name. He’d been tempted to search the library, but he asked Kachien instead. She’d reminded him of their conversation on that day outside Randane. He recalled her words vividly.
‘We are mercenaries. From the day we can walk until the day we die, we are trained to kill.’
But that wasn’t the worst of what she had to say. When she told him the majority of her people now fought alongside Amuni’s Children and whatever was left of the shadelings in Ostania, he was left stunned. Was that their fate? His fate?
“I know what you might be thinking,” Ryne said, “that it seems your people have always served an evil purpose, but that isn’t so. Nerian the Shadowbearer was under the influence of another, stronger power when he led the Alzari and the Setian down the path he did. A power strong enough to defeat even one of us.
“Before and after the Shadowbearer War, the Setian and Alzari split several ways to try preserve the remnants. Some came to Granadia under the leadership of your father and Galiana. Others stayed close to the Vallum of Light, hoping to find a way to survive. Others became the Alzari clans we know today. Still, others, the ones steeped in their darkness, continued in Nerian’s footsteps, which eventually led to the War of the Remnants. By then, so much had been twisted by different tellings, that much of the true histories were lost.”
“It-It’s just so much,” Ancel said. “So much I need to relearn, so much that’s different from what I believe or have read, so much I need to control. How could one people turn out this way?”
“This isn’t just about you, Ancel, but the entire world.” Ryne’s voice softened. “Denestia as a whole has suffered, and although the Ashishin have attempted to shield Granadia from most of it, the effects are still there. But it is time for them too to understand that the world needs unity. I fear what has happened in Ostania and now here, is just the beginning of events to come. The netherlings saw you as worthy to become one of us. There has not been another granted the blessing of the Etchings in five hundred years.”
Ancel’s eyes bulged, and his mouth opened. “But-But, that would mean you-you’re …”
“Old? Ancient?” Ryne smiled. “Yes.”
“Are you immortal?”
This time, Ryne laughed, merriment twinkling in his eyes. “No. The closest things to being immortal are the gods. Despite what I told you,” he continued, “it doesn’t mean that you’re Denestia’s savior. Some will tell you differently, and some who look for a sliver of hope may cling to you as if you’re expected to save the world. No single person can. No matter what any ridiculous prophecies say. Only the entire world can save Denestia from what is to come. You will have to work with kings and queens, commoners and thieves, the most pious and sometimes the most immoral. Our job … your job … is to get them to work toward a common goal. Survival. And the task begins with your own people.”
A flood of emotions swept through Ancel. Whatever was at stake, it appeared many believed in him changing things, not only the netherlings, Ryne, and Shin Galiana, but his father too. He remembered his mother’s smile despite her dire situation when he unleashed his power at their winery. A smile that said she expected nothing less from her son. She and his father had gone to great lengths, sacrificing much to see the small portion of their people in Eldanhill and elsewhere survived, that their heritage still lived.
No matter what was required of him, he would not disappoint. He would help change the fate of his people. He would help pave a new path. “Show me what I need to do.”
Chapter 33
Ryne couldn’t help his smile and the prideful swell in his chest. Not only did Ancel continue to show his potential for learning, which so much reminded him of Kahkon, but despite the hardships, he exhibited some of the strongest traits for an Eztezian-in-training. Indomitable will and determination.
However, what he’d seen around Ancel disturbed him. In all his years, he’d yet to see the essences within an Entosis react to any being as they did to Ancel. They caressed him, appearing almost as if he and them were one. At some point, he needed to investigate the reaction. Training was what Ancel required most now.
“Your sword work and creation of the construct was to focus on the connection between the essences and emotions,” Ryne instructed. “Where a normal Forger attempts to use the Eye to
shut out their emotions against the essences’ temptations, we Eztezians embrace those emotions through our Etchings. They make us that much more powerful.”
“In other words, the stronger my feelings, the stronger I’ll be?” Ancel asked.
“Yes, but there are still limits. Overdo it and we break the protection the Etchings provide. However, if you’re Forging Prima, the power is further restricted by the amount you have stored. Forging beyond those limits will tear your mind and body apart. Similar to what you began when you saved me.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” Ancel said dryly.
Ryne smiled. He didn’t want to scare his ward, but the boy had to know what he faced. “Think of what is about to happen as a test. In fact, it is a test. Back when they were more with comparable power, maybe one in a thousand would pass after gaining their first Etching. Within every test, there is a part of you that you must cling to. Your will. Your spirit. Perseverance.”
“Like The Disciplines,” Ancel said. “Bravery, prevailing, overcoming. Strength by conquering your weakness.”
“Exactly. Now,” Ryne continued, “I’m sure the first day you saw my Etchings and yours, you thought of tattoos or artwork. Well, to put it simply, that is what they are. They depict things that exist or have existed. Why do you think that is?”
Ancel’s brows drew together in a studious frown. He squinted, emerald eyes shifting from side to side as he searched for an answer. Then his face lit up. “For the same reason a Forging won’t work without a base. There needs to be something there, something tangible for the essences to draw upon.”
“Good. Imagine if you could dredge up every experience you ever had, and everything you learned at any time you wanted into something physical. For sake of understanding, the Etchings are memories. Memories collected by the netherlings since the day of their creation. Combined with Prima, you call upon those memories, those drawings to summon what’s there. The constructs come forth in the form of energy, a solid, or a liquid.”
“The Streams, the Forms, and the Flows,” Ancel whispered in awe.
“Yes. Unlike the one Galiana or you made, these are sentient, each possessing a measure of intelligence.”
“They’re alive?”
“Well, not exactly. If you want to consider that they’re made of Prima which is inhabited by living beings, then technically, you could say yes,” Ryne said. “But really, they are not. They can communicate with you and are aware of what’s happening, but for the most part, they’re just memories that can make use of stored knowledge and respond to circumstances. They contain no sela, no essences of life and death.”
Teaching Ancel brought back memories of the first day Damal had used the Tenets to summon a Hengen from the Etchings on his arm. Bigger than a barn, the beast had unfurled its leathery wings and exhaled heat and cold as it screeched. The conflicting temperatures and the stench of its breath convinced him it was real, even if all of its kind was supposed to be long dead. Damal commanded the creature to fly. Dust kicked up from the ground when the Hengen took off. Ryne recalled his first lesson had been to find a way to defeat the beast.
“Did you ever fight against the gods?”
The question caught Ryne by surprise, but he answered as quickly as he could, keeping his expression flat. “No. Those battles were before my time, but the ones who taught me certainly did.”
Ancel appeared to deflate at his admission but then quickly perked up. “Did they ever tell you how they defeated Amuni and the other gods?”
“As usual you’re seeking to dive into the ocean before you know the water’s depth or how rough the sea is. The only thing going too fast ever gained a warrior is death. Each thing in its place and time. Before we even broach the subject of the gods, Hydae, or any other beast or man you might face, first comes your test and the Tenets.”
“I—”
“In this, I will not be moved.” Ryne reined in his annoyance. The same aspects that made Ancel a more than worthy student also lent to his impatience.
For the briefest of moments, Ancel’s shoulders slumped, and then he exhaled and gave a nod.
“Good.” Ryne straightened, preparing himself for what was to come. He inhaled, relishing the perfumed aromas feathering the breeze, the animal droppings staining the air, and nature’s cries and calls. They became one with the picture of beauty all around him. “Now, the first part of what you must learn is that it makes no difference how you recite the Tenets. They can be done mentally or orally. The importance is your connection to Mater. Although different, remember the essences outside are made from Prima. Connect to them and to Prima within your Etchings. What is outside must join with what exists inside in harmony.”
Ryne opened himself to Prima. In a torrent, the essences flooded him. He gritted his teeth against the euphoric feeling. It was like being a part of the tiniest nuances of the world, and then opening up to see the entire Omniverse. He could tell where tiny feelers from miniscule insects brushed his arms, the movement of sweat as it began to ease up his pores before his Etchings absorbed the liquids as part of the Flows. The sun beating down became one with him as he gobbled up the light and heat it offered. His feet absorbed bits of the earth.
“This is Light’s Tenet. Light to balance shade. Light to show honor. Honor to show mercy.”
At the same time, he thrust the power of light and heat into the Etching of the Guardians on his chest. He chose one among them.
A white luminance shot up into the air several feet from Ryne. Hand upraised to shield his eyes, Ancel stumbled away, his mouth wide, fear in his eyes.
The bar of radiance resolved into a life-like replica of Damal, his colossal figure spanning up the cliff face behind them, at least four times Ryne’s height. Essences of the Streams, primarily heat and light mixed with touches of shade, encompassed his body. Transparent at first, they coalesced and became solid. Within moments, the construct of Damal was clothed in leather armor covered with Etchings. The identical way Ryne remembered him before Damal left for his final battle in Jenoah.
“Brother,” Damal said, golden eyes shining, voice a rumble. “You called?”
“Yes.” Ryne smiled as he nodded toward Ancel. “I have brought you a student. Ancel, this is a sentient, all that remains of my brother Damal, one of the first Eztezians.”
Damal’s countenance glowed. He cocked his head to one side, and then stared out toward the kinai orchard. “You brought a student, and an old friend.”
Brows drawing together, Ryne squinted in the same direction. He scowled. How the woman had managed to deceive him was a mystery. Old anger bubbled to the surface. Fists clenched, he strode toward Galiana.
Chapter 34
Galiana spun to the feel of power emanating from behind her. Reminiscent of a flood drowning an open plain, it washed over her. Even the animals grazing from the kinai fruit appeared to experience it. Their plaintive cries filled the air. Several herds trotted away.
“What—!” Mirza exclaimed.
She opened her Matersense to a surge of essences stronger than any she’d ever experienced. More powerful than when Ancel had drawn power from the Chainin. They also were different to the ones outside of the Entosis: less malevolent, calm, almost comforting.
A transparent dome of energy encompassed the area where she’d left Ryne watching over Ancel. Within its borders, she made out a titanic construct of a man stretching at least thirty feet. Dark hair in long braids hung down past his shoulders. Golden eyes dominated his face. He was staring at Ancel. Shrouded by the dome, the construct’s features seemed familiar.
She attempted to draw on the essences around her, to attack the dome, but nothing happened. It wasn’t that she was blocked. The essences simply did not respond to her call. Clenching her fist, she strained her mind, willing them to do as she commanded.
Nothin
g.
“They won’t respond to you here, not if you intend to harm one of their own.”
A shimmer resolved into Ryne, Etchings aglow, striding toward her.
“Wha-What is that thing?” Mirza asked. “And what’s it doing to Ancel.”
“Teaching him how to use his Etchings,” Ryne answered. “He will be fine. I assure you. Mirza, if you don’t mind, continue picking the kinai. Ancel will need some when his session is finished.” He peered toward her, expression grim, eyes unflinching. “Galiana, if you will …” He gestured beyond the orchard’s red blooms.
Galiana frowned at Ryne’s demeanor, but his words concerning Ancel eased some of the concern from her mind. “After you.”
The big man turned and strode away, his leather molding to his body like an extra covering of skin. She followed.
“What is this about?” she asked as they cleared the orchard’s edge.
“You.”
Galiana almost missed a step. What could he be referring to? Unless … She dismissed the thought. “What is it about me?”
“Don’t play with me.” He eased the pace and length of his steps until she caught up to him. When she did, he stopped, and stared toward the distant mist-shrouded peaks. “You’ve made an art of hiding who you are.”
This time she did miss a step. Having not released her Matersense, she considered attempting to bind the man, but the earlier futility lent her caution. Besides, for better than a thousand years her deceptions had been perfect. She made her face into an implacable mask, betraying no emotion.
Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood Page 24