Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood

by Terry C. Simpson

  He turned to face her, his eyes jeweled pinpoints, his jaw iron. “When I’d look at you in Benez, I often thought I knew you. I mean other than being High Ashishin Galiana. And I did, Exalted Jenoah Amelie, once White, but now leader of the Gray Council.”

  “What? Don’t be ridiculous. Exalted Amelie died some thousand years ago.”

  “I thought the same too, until my brother’s essences revealed you.”

  Ryne had to be guessing. Sure, the essences here were stronger than those outside. They matched those rumored to have existed back when the first Tribunal made the Iluminus and Damal Adelfried appointed her as Exalted. Wait. Openmouthed, she turned slowly and stared back the way they’d come. The giant construct was still visible. She recognized the face now.

  Damal. One of the leaders among the Eztezians, her first mentor and lover. So he did die. She choked up. All these years spent hoping he had managed to save her city. If Damal was dead, then Jenoah, her home, her city, it was ….

  Ryne’s words came to her again. His brother. Memories of Damal’s younger brother swept through her; a man full of life and power, destined to become one of the most powerful Eztezians. For reasons unknown, he’d thrown himself at the shade’s armies for countless years since the Kassite sealed away his brother. In the end, with no gods to fight, he’d spearheaded the attacks against his own who’d went mad. During this time, he helped create the Great Divide. After that, he’d vanished like the other Eztezians. She faced him, unable to hide the shock on her face. “Thanairen?”

  His voice softened. “That was my name once, but I cast it away after my brother’s death. I flung myself headlong after the Skadwaz, seeking revenge.” For a brief moment, pain flashed across his face, before his expression soured. “Until I found out how he died.”

  Jenoah Amelie—no, she couldn’t think of herself by that name now—she was Galiana Calestis. Yet, she remembered that other life, and the events leading up to Damal’s defense of her home. Instead of sending an army of Matii to help Damal, the White and Shadow Councils of the original Tribunal decided the best course was to keep their armies on this side of the Kassite. It began the end of the Tribunal as she knew it. The Ashishin tried to reform their own since, assuming the old name, but the stain of their betrayal to one sworn to protect them tainted the relationships between the councils and the Matii. Since that day, they remained splintered.

  To this day, thousands of years later, she still had faith that somehow Damal survived. If she ever surrendered to despair, she would be giving up hope on the world. The memory dredged up old pain and a longing to be by his side that she’d buried time and again.

  So many years spent pointing one faction or another toward the Chronicles, all for a chance to breach the Kassite’s seal and find him. A great weight settled on her shoulders. Her age, her lost life, dead lover, failure as a leader, came crashing down. If not for Ryne’s hand grabbing her arm, she would have fallen to her knees.

  Something else Ryne said struck her. Galiana pushed away from him. Few lived from Benez who knew her role as High Ashishin. She searched his face, studying the lines of his jaw, removing the scars on his face, imagining him without his Etchings. She gasped.

  “You were also Nerian.” She managed in a barely audible whisper. Now she understood why Jerem kept Ryne’s existence, his identity, such a secret. All hope lost, she turned to flee, but again his massive hand on her shoulder stopped her. Slowly, she faced him.

  “Yes,” he said, shoulders slumping, his face becoming a cringing mass of anguish.

  “Why?” she pleaded. “Why would you do that to your own people? Was it because of Damal?”

  He squeezed his eyes tight. When he opened them, his face embodied serenity. “I felt when Damal died, the pain he endured. For years, I dreamt of revenge on the councils, but I had a greater purpose. A purpose given to me by him. His final words to me were that no matter how the gods turned out, the people themselves were still more important. He made me promise to put Denestia first. It’s why I pushed myself so hard in battle for so many centuries after. Until I lost myself.

  “My brother knew there were those among the Skadwaz who Amuni had taken for his own. Those he’d given power to match us. Helped by several of the remaining Eztezians, one of them captured me, invaded my thoughts through Manipulation, made me become Nerian. Whoever he is, he used me to help force the following of the Chronicles, as well as for one other task. Only I could release the power stored within the Great Divide. Only I could free the other Eztezians from their prison. You see, we recognized the threat we represented, but at the same time the world would one day need us. So we sealed off our power and locked ourselves away.

  “This Skadwaz knew. I assume it must be by development of a Bloodline Affinity. He also used you and the other councils to keep searching out powerful Matii, to spark the wars, to create founts of sela, to feed on your emotions, to feed himself power. Tell me, who is Ancel’s mother? And don’t say she’s a High Shin or some such.”

  Galiana cleared her throat, trying to find words. Finally, she said, “She’s my sister.”

  “And following the Chronicles that you believed were leading you true, you found a man strong in Eztezian blood, his father.”

  She nodded.

  “Still there has to be more than that. I see the way Prima reacts to him.”

  Galiana let out a long, protracted breath. “He was born in here.”

  A stunned silence followed.

  “I’ve never been inside before, but somehow she knew of this place. She said a voice told her of its existence. We came to the entrance one day. I couldn’t see it, but I could tell where the power congregated. Only Thania with her Gift was strong enough to pass through.”

  When Ryne finally spoke, his voice was low. “She chose this place because of what she thought happened in Benez with her other children. She couldn’t have known what giving birth here meant or would do. Before today, I would say no one knew.” His voice became distant, lost in his assessment. “But whoever led her here did. Using your belief in the Chronicles, they guided her. They hoped to ensure the Eztezian created was powerful enough to break the Chainin. They knew Ancel’s act combined with the power I released from the Great Divide so long ago would unleash Prima into the world.”

  Galiana’s mind whirled. For years, she and Jerem had worked with the belief much of the Chronicles were true, or at least predictions of what might occur. What if they were another ploy, similar to the ones the Tribunal already used? Misdirection and deception using man’s tendency to believe in a savior, destiny, in prophecy. She couldn’t believe her gullibility. How could she have not seen this? Had she not done the same when she and the other Exalted first formed the Devout so many years ago? Repeat the same words enough times and eventually it carries a truth of its own. Repeat it in the right places, to the right ears, and one can make people believe. A tightness gripped her chest. “How much of the Chronicles are lies?”

  “Not lies, but a composition of dreams, nightmares, visions, theories passed down by us. If an Eztezian claimed to have been linked to all the Planes of Existence—Past, Present, and Future—who would say he was not? The gods made us. The netherlings gave us more power. Surely, we could see all things. Convincing isn’t it?

  “Little exists to separate what is real from what isn’t, what is carefully crafted stories, and what might truly be prophecy. There are those among the netherlings, known as the Nine, who seek to harness power for themselves. They have been guiding us to specific paths that serve their purpose. It’s one of the reasons we decided to seal the gods themselves. To protect them. Only by killing the gods can the Nine take their places.

  “Then there are other factions, some who believe the world is better off with the gods regardless of what they’ve done in the past. It’s been my suspicion over the years that they are behind the Skadwaz
or are Skadwaz, looking to ensure their master returns. From what I witnessed at the Chainin, this Skadwaz can draw on Prima. Not only that, but its release will tempt the other remaining Eztezians. If they can find concentrations of Prima, they no longer need to find an Entosis to recharge. But why? This is all wrong.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Galiana said, although what Ryne said rang with truth. “I cannot imagine deception on this grand a scale.”

  “Oh?” Ryne said. “So then what you’ve taught at the Mysteras or all across Denestia is true? Or the way blame was laid at Nerian’s feet. How about that? Didn’t the Tribunal themselves fail to reveal every Matii that was at the brink to purposely goad me to act? Didn’t they play me against the Erastonians, making me believe the Erastonians were responsible for the release of shadelings into Seti? The war between Astoca and Cardia and their subsequent split was because the Tribunal considered their ancestors to be their strongest adversary, and therefore drove a wedge between them with broken treaties and mishandled trade policies. Is any of that less grand a scale? It all affected the world. You worked events the same as the Nine does. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Nine are planted deep in the Iluminus.”

  Overwhelmed by the possibility, Galiana eyed Damal from a distance. What more of an example did she need? Damal had defended her city against a strike by the gods, but some stories and songs had it that he’d destroyed Jenoah. It wasn’t much different from how most Eztezians were normal men, outside of those from the Svenzar, but by use of constructs and with the Svenzar’s own size, the Eztezians had become synonymous with giants who protected the world.

  “We need to inform the other councils,” she said, finally. “Call a gathering.”

  “No,” Ryne said. “The Shadow Council will not waver in its support of Amuni, and the same can be said for the Whites and Ilumni. Both are staunch in their belief that the gods’ return is the only way to see harmony in Denestia. They’re fanatics. They would both rather scour the world of any who did not worship their gods. Neither of them are ready. Not yet.”

  “Maybe, but faced with this, from the mouth of an Eztezian, they would have to change.”

  “Wishful thinking, but you know better than that. They would see me dead.”

  “Then it’s just us of the Gray. We still hold onto much of what the Tenets and Principles taught us. Besides, we probably have the greatest army of Matii seeing that—” She cut herself off. Why did she suddenly feel the need to work with Ryne, with Nerian? Did she dare believe what he said about being Manipulated? Suppose he was doing the same to her? She squinted but saw no Forging from the man.

  “I see suspicion creeping across your face,” Ryne said. “If I wanted to harm the boy, or you, or Stefan or any others, I could have. Not one among you possesses the power to stop me.”

  “Still as arrogant as ever, I see.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I swear in my brother’s name and by the blessings of the Streams, that I mean no harm. It is Denestia I want to help save.”

  Oaths were not something Thanairen gave lightly. She’d never known him to break one. “Very well. What do you suggest we do?”

  “First, Ancel must finish this portion of his training. Then we gather the rest of the Grays, find the other Eztezians, and discover the location of this Skadwaz. Instead of defending, it’s time we strike.”

  A stab of sadness poked at Galiana’s chest. It must have shown or her face, because Ryne frowned at her.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Only three of the original Grays still live. The years of war with the White and Shadow have taken its toll. Only Sol Remus, Trucida Adler, and I are left.”

  Ryne leaned back, face held to the sky, and shook his head. “Nothing is ever easy.” He looked at her once more. “Where are they?”

  “Remus, you met already.”

  “Let me guess … Jerem?”

  She nodded. Even when he was younger, Thanairen had a knack for discovering the most intricate plots. “He is in Calisto, most likely. He has been working as much as he dared on this side of the Vallum and in Ostania. Trucida, last I heard, was somewhere in Everland. So you know, the Pathfinders belong to Jerem now.”

  “The same Pathfinders who have been killing Matii? Depleting our numbers? Why hasn’t he reined them in?”

  Galiana shrugged. “You can ask him when we get to Calisto.” She didn’t fully trust the man, and in ways, making them seem weaker than they were at present might work in her favor in case he had some treachery planned. What happened to the Setian under Nerian’s rule still gave her nightmares. That brought up another issue. How was she going to reveal this to Stefan?

  “Well,” Ryne said, “Harval and Calisto it is then.”

  “And afterward?”

  “A land to reclaim.”

  Chapter 35

  From where he lay on the flattened grass, Ancel glared at the colossal sentient. The construct, had called itself Damal, Ryne’s brother and once a leader of the Eztezians. Supposedly the same Damal from legend, the one minstrel’s sang about, the one who according to the stories had sacrificed himself for Denestia, or destroyed Jenoah, depending on which telling you believed. Frustrated at yet another failure, Ancel punched the ground and got to his feet.

  “Good, boy. I see fire in your eyes. It becomes you.” The sentient grinned, its mouth a yawning cavern.

  Time had become a forgotten concept for Ancel. Days had bled into nights and into days again, each filled with near incessant training. Occasional rest and pauses to allow for a meal or a drink when Ryne, Galiana, or Mirza brought him food and kinai were the only breaks to the monotony. Beyond them asking after his well-being, Damal didn’t allow much conversation, cutting off any attempt at an extended talk. The kinai juice or fruit they brought was sweeter than any he had before, even his mother’s. Each time he partook, it more than simply invigorated him; the kinai drove away all fatigue, making him feel as if he could run a hundred miles, fight a dozen battles. Damal pushed him harder soon afterward.

  And still, he’d learned nothing. Or at least that’s how he felt.

  “I continue to tell you,” Damal’s mouth twitched into a smirk Ancel had grown to loathe, “these are not the essences outside that do your bidding simply by drawing on them. You must not only command Prima, but you must have absolute belief in what you do. Doubt yourself for one moment, one instant, and they will refuse your call.”

  Easy for you to say. You’re not facing a three-storied house in the shape of a man.

  “Succumbing to intimidation is weakness. Showing and reacting to fear are signs of doubt. Believe in Prima with the same fervor you would if you prayed for Ilumni’s help,” Damal commanded.

  Ancel sighed. Regardless of how many times he tried, he found it difficult to apply the concepts. Belief in a god was one thing. Belief that the essences were his to command despite how they fought him was another. After witnessing what they could do, his fear was warranted. How could he forget he faced an Eztezian, a myth, a legend, here before him? Even though not of flesh and blood, Damal was no less real.

  Sweat trickled down his brow as Ancel raised his sword once more. His last helping of kinai had been hours before, and both his legs and arms were beginning to feel like massive logs. Striated with both air and water essences, a transparent dome spread above and around them. The shield absorbed the impact of his body whenever he failed to block Damal’s Forgings. Its edges cushioned him as it bent, but never broke. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He refused to wipe at where it crawled from the corner of his lip and down into his bushy beard.

  The beard reminded him yet again of how long he must have been inside the Entosis. At least three weeks by his count, but the growth said it had to be more.

  He was still thinking when a soft whine made him glance u
p. A shaft of heat and light made solid by use of air slammed into his chest. The impact blew him backward. He flew at least twenty feet before he crashed into the barrier that this time wasn’t so forgiving.

  Spots dancing before his eyes, he crawled to his feet. His head throbbed. Someone was speaking. Or at least he thought he heard words mixed in with the ringing in his head. His vision of Damal split into a dozen parts before becoming one again. A lopsided grin split its features, but its eyes weren’t smiling.

  Enraged, Ancel charged Damal, sword out before him. He pulled on whatever essences he could, flinging Forgings at the sentient. All the skills he’d learned.

  He sent fire blazing in a trail across the ground, leaving a swath of blackened grass in its wake. At the same time, he cast several balls of flame in a curving arc from the right and left. He connected with the skies above, finding particles of energy there, drawing on them to form lightning. Using the sun’s beams, he also whipped forth a spear of heat and light to strike at an angle above the blaze speeding toward Damal.

  A single strike of lightning tore from the sky. The fire wave, the balls, and the spear struck at the same time. They dissipated before they hit Damal, not even leaving a concussion.

  The sentient grinned even more broadly. “I told you such petty Forges will not work on one such as I.” He flung a hand out.

  Ancel felt as if the hand snatched him and tossed him sideways. He tried to turn to soften his fall, or at least roll, but he landed in a heap. Pain shot up his side and arm.

  “You are weak, boy. You will stop no one in your current state. Pitiful.”

  Ancel’s ribs throbbed and his arm hung limp as he struggled up onto his feet. He would not give in. Even if he had to fight to his death. Attempting to will the hurt away, he drew in ragged breaths. This time, he approached Damal carefully, one slow step at a time, grimacing as pain lanced up his side. Ancel gauged the distance between them, searching for any revealing movement or shift in the essences to signify an attack. The sentient simply watched him with a bemused expression.