Oblivion's Grasp

by Eric T Knight

  “I am not sure what these things are,” Xochitl replied. “But you have my assurance that I will look into them.” She started to sink again.

  “You will come back, won’t you?” Netra asked. “Your Tenders need to see you. We have been on our own for a very long time.”

  Xochitl nodded, then was gone.

  Netra started walking toward the city.

  Seventy-one

  “Something has changed,” Ricarn said.

  She, Rome, Quyloc and Nalene were standing looking at the tower, which was completely invisible under its thick layer of the unnatural vine.

  “It looks the same to me,” Rome said.

  “No, she’s right,” Quyloc said. He was holding the rendspear and he looked down at it. “My spear feels different too.”

  “The vine is no longer growing,” Ricarn said.

  “Well, that’s good,” Rome said. “What does it mean?”

  “You might not have to abandon Qarath, for one,” Ricarn said.

  “I like the sound of that.”

  “And maybe it means our world isn’t going to be swallowed by the abyss,” Quyloc added.

  “This is just getting better and better,” Rome said.

  “But I don’t think we’re going to get the tower back anytime soon,” Quyloc said. “Just because it’s stopped growing doesn’t mean it’s going to just die.”

  “Who needs a tower anyway?” Rome said. “I think we’ll just build a wall around it, just to prevent any surprises.” He looked at Nalene. The FirstMother had not been herself ever since she gave up her sulbit. He couldn’t say he was sad to see the last of those things. They’d always seemed creepy to him. “How is the hospital doing?” The Tenders had set up a hospital on their estate to help those who’d been injured in the siege.

  “No one died yesterday,” she said. “A few more were well enough to go home.”

  “Is the one Tender—what’s-her-name, Cara?—still running the morning services?”

  “She is. The people love her.”

  “Good. I think we all need whatever help we can get for a while.”

  Nalene and Ricarn left then, heading back down into the city. Rome and Quyloc stood there looking at the tower. It was a chilly morning, a sharp wind blowing in off the ocean. Quyloc’s green cloak fluttered in the wind.

  “I wonder what happened,” Quyloc said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Quyloc gestured toward the tower. “Why did it stop growing?”

  Rome shrugged. “Who cares? As long as it did. That’s all I care about. I’ve had enough of that supernatural stuff. I’d like to just face ordinary problems from here on out.”

  “I agree,” Quyloc said. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he threw the rendspear into the vine. It disappeared without a trace.

  Rome looked at him, his eyebrows raised. Quyloc shrugged. Rome patted him on the shoulder. “Probably for the best,” Rome said.

  Seventy-two

  As Netra approached Qarath she fell into the rear of a group of people who were clearly just returning to the city. They pulled carts laden with belongings and elderly relatives. Men were working on the front gates that Heram had destroyed. One of the gates had already been fitted back into place and the other was being repaired. There were several soldiers standing guard, but they did not hinder the returning citizens or give Netra a second look.

  Inside, in the large square, she saw that the rubble from the buildings that Rome had collapsed had already been cleared away. The buildings themselves were already partially rebuilt. Scaffolding ran around the buildings. Teams of horses pulled on ropes, lifting stones into the air to be set back into place. It looked like Macht Rome himself was up on the scaffolding, the axe he usually carried replaced by a workman’s hammer.

  Everywhere the city was a hive of activity. Carts laden with debris rolled toward the gates. Groups of people were rebuilding stone walls, cutting timbers, replacing roofs and doors. It looked like Qarath would thrive once again.

  Netra was passing a row of buildings that were a blackened wreck when she heard a familiar voice yell her name. She turned to see Shorn sprinting toward her.

  “It’s you! You’re alive! I can’t believe it!” he yelled, a huge smile on his face.

  Then he swept her into a massive bear hug. She tried to hug him back, but she couldn’t really move and it was like hugging an actual bear he was so large. He was saying something in his own language, over and over. She didn’t know what it was.

  “Shorn,” she said finally. “I can’t breathe.”

  He released her and when she looked up at his face she saw something she’d never seen before.

  He was crying.

  Tears rolled in broad tracks down his face. When Netra saw that she burst into tears as well. Then there was nothing she could do but hug him again. Fortunately, this time he was a bit gentler and she didn’t have to worry about any cracked ribs.

  When that hug ended he took her hands in his giant ones and said, “Where did you go? I searched, but I could not find you.”

  “It’s kind of hard to explain. I don’t really understand it all myself. I guess somehow I pulled my body beyond.”

  He frowned, thinking. “But you said it is not a place, that nothing from this world can go there.”

  “I know I did. Like I said, I don’t really understand it. But I was in the River when I did it. Maybe that gave me the strength to bend the rules.”

  Shorn shrugged. “You are safe. That is all that matters.”

  “I’m glad to find you here. Do you know where I can find Cara?”

  “She will be at the estate. The sick and the wounded are there. I will go with you.” Shorn turned and yelled to a burly man who was carrying a load of rubble out of the building.

  The man waved in response and then yelled to Netra as they were walking away. “Don’t keep him too long. He does the work of ten men.”

  They walked up the broad street. Netra thought about how many roads they had walked together, how much they had faced together.

  “We’ve walked a long way together, haven’t we, Shorn?” Shorn rumbled his agreement. “I bet you never dreamed what you were getting yourself into when you decided to follow me.”

  “I do not dream,” Shorn said, very seriously.

  Netra laughed. It felt good to laugh. It felt even better to have things to laugh about.

  There were no guards at the gates of the Tender estate, though people were coming and going, bringing in food and supplies and carrying away waste. Here and there across the grounds were people convalescing, some sitting on benches taking in the sunlight, others walking slowly. A few Tenders moved among them, though none that Netra recognized. She noticed right away that the sulbits were gone and wondered at that.

  Then Cara came out of one of the long, low buildings that the Tenders bunked in. She was carrying a stack of folded cloths and she turned toward the estate house.

  She saw Shorn first, as she was turning, and turned back, a question forming on her lips. Then her eyes fell on Netra.

  She uttered a cry and dropped the cloths, which spilled across the ground. “Netra!” she yelled, and ran toward her.

  Seventy-three

  “I’m going to go back to Rane Haven for a while,” Netra said to Cara. They had just finished dinner and were sitting outside, though the night was rapidly getting cold. Netra had been back in Qarath for a few months.

  “I’ll come with you,” Cara said.

  “And who will conduct the morning services then?” Netra asked her gently.

  Cara frowned. “Maybe I can ask Velma.”

  “I thought you said Velma hated doing the morning services.” Lowering her voice, Netra said, “I even remember you saying something about how awful she is at it. You said it nicely, of course.”

  “I’m sure I didn’t say anything like that,” Cara said in mock seriousness.

  “Of course not. I probably just imagined it.”

&
nbsp; “Maybe Bronwyn would do it,” Cara mused.

  “Really? During her free time?” Bronwyn had become the FirstMother’s second-in-command and she was practically the FirstMother herself these days. Nalene turned more and more duties over to her all the time and it was whispered among the Tenders that soon Nalene would anoint Bronwyn as her successor. The FirstMother had changed greatly since the end of the troubles. She hardly spoke anymore. She spent a lot of time in silent prayer.

  “I can’t go, can I?” Cara said miserably.

  “Do you really want to? Or is your place here now?”

  Cara sighed. “It’s here. I feel strange saying this, but I feel like I’m right where I’m supposed to be. It used to terrify me, but now I really love doing the morning services.”

  “I’ll come back,” Netra said. “I promise.”

  “Is Shorn going with you?”

  “I haven’t asked him yet, but I think he probably will.”

  “Why are you going?”

  Netra took a moment to answer. “I’m not exactly sure. Part of the reason is I want to visit Siena’s and Brelisha’s graves. I want to sit there with them. I miss them.”

  “I do too,” Cara said sadly.

  “But it’s more than that. I need to get out, away from the city. I need some quiet to think. So much happened and I…I think I need to spend some time with it, figure out what it all means.” She looked at Cara. “Does that make any sense?” Cara nodded.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful, no more crazy adventures?”

  “I promise.”

  Cara filed into the huge dining room along with the rest of the Tenders. The Tenders murmured amongst themselves, wondering to each other why the FirstMother had called them here, hours before dinner would be served. The FirstMother was sitting at the head of the table, her eyes closed, her hands folded. Behind her stood Ricarn. Ricarn met Cara’s eye and nodded slightly.

  They all took their seats and the whispers ceased. Every eye went to the FirstMother. For several minutes she sat there without moving, then she looked up.

  “I officially resign my position as FirstMother,” she said in a low voice. From the gathered Tenders there was a collective intake of breath. “As is customary, for my last act as FirstMother, I name my successor.”

  Everyone, including Cara, looked at Bronwyn, who was sitting to the FirstMother’s immediate right. Bronwyn lowered her eyes. Then Cara looked to the FirstMother and saw something unusual.

  The FirstMother was looking at her.

  The FirstMother stood and took the heavy gold Reminder from around her neck. She walked around the table, past Bronwyn, past Velma, finally stopping behind Cara.

  Cara couldn’t breathe. She wondered if this was really happening.

  The FirstMother placed the Reminder around Cara’s neck and said, “Welcome your new FirstMother.”

  Seventy-four

  Several months had passed since Gulagh was defeated and winter was coming. More snow fell on the peaks nearly every day. The cold air blowing down out of the mountains seemed to sweep the pains of the past away from the Takare. There was laughter again from the children and smiles on the faces of the adults as they worked together to build shelters against the coming winter.

  They built their shelters around the shores of the lake, which was several miles from where Wreckers Gate had stood. Up there the valley was a large bowl, grassy and open in the bottom, with thick forests on the sides. It was a good place in which to rebuild.

  Somehow, over the course of those weeks, Elihu had become their leader. He did not ask for it. The people just naturally turned to him. There was a calming steadiness and wisdom to him that naturally drew them.

  Freed of the demands of leadership, Youlin slowly emerged from within herself. The first few days she sat alone, withdrawn inside her hood, but one morning she got up and began helping to build a shelter. Now she hardly ever wore her hood up at all and Shakre had even heard her laugh once.

  For the most part the Takare abandoned their martial arts training. The swords and battle axes were stored away in a small hut and their time went into hunting and building. The gentle, happy people Shakre had come to love returned. There were far fewer of them, it was true, but this land was much kinder than the land on the Plateau and they would thrive here.

  One morning Shakre got up and knew it was time. There were no injured Takare for her to tend. Those who had been infected by the ash flakes had all healed on their own once Gulagh was gone. Besides, there were two other healers to look after the Takare if necessary.

  She was putting food in her old pack when Elihu returned to the simple hut they had built together. He looked at her gear, then at her. “Is it the wind again, pushing you off to begin a new adventure?” He said it with a smile and she knew he was joking.

  “No, not the wind this time. But there is something pushing me. I’m thinking that the Takare are not the only ones who have been hiding from the world for too long.”

  Elihu understood, as he always did. “You are going to find your daughter.”

  “I am. Rane Haven is not too many days from here.”

  “I would not like to see you go alone.”

  “Oh, I’m not. I have someone coming to keep an eye on me.”

  Elihu looked around and saw Werthin approaching, carrying a pack. He nodded. “Good. He will make sure you return safely.” He gave her a look. “You are returning, I take it?”

  She embraced him. “I am going to see my daughter, but this is my home. I will return.”

  Seventy-five

  Netra and Shorn took their time and traveled slowly. They stopped early most days and spent a lot of time sitting around the fire, not speaking much. They passed through small towns and villages and everywhere saw signs of people getting back to their lives.

  At some point the road led them to a small city that Netra remembered all too well. Nelton. The place was deserted. They did not enter. Netra wondered what had become of the Guardians.

  When finally they came over the last ridge and saw the ruined Haven down below, Netra was surprised to see that there was someone there, a woman.

  “I wonder who that could be,” she said to Shorn. He did not respond.

  They made their way down the ridge. Long before they got there the woman saw them coming and stood waiting for them.

  As they drew close, Netra suddenly felt her heart drop.

  “Can it be?” she asked.

  All at once Shorn said, “Shakre?”

  “What did you just call her?”

  “It is Shakre, the one who found me after I crashed here on your world.”

  Netra stared at him, realizing that she had never once told him her mother’s name.

  He hurried forward and Netra followed. She was suddenly terrified. She had dreamed of this moment her whole life and now that it was here it wasn’t happening right at all. What would she say? Why did she come?

  Shakre greeted Shorn, but her eyes were fixed on Netra. Netra tried to speak but her mouth wouldn’t work. She realized she was shaking.

  “Is it really you?” Shakre asked, walking forward with her hands out. “Is it my little girl after all these years?”

  “Mother?” Netra asked.

  “Oh, Netra,” Shakre said and ran the last few steps and threw her arms around her. “It’s so good to see you. I thought of you every day.” Her words were filled with tears. “I’m so sorry. I should have come back sooner but I thought…I was afraid you’d hate me for leaving you.”

  “I don’t hate you. How could I? You’re my mother.” Netra said the words without thinking. They felt right. Everything felt so right.

  Seventy-six

  It was late and almost everyone in the palace was asleep, but in the library a lantern burned. Perganon sat at his desk. Before him was a large, leather-bound book.

  Technically, it wasn’t a book. Not yet, anyway. Every page was blank, waiting for the words that Perganon would write on them. He me
ant to start in the morning, writing the complete story of recent events, as Rome had charged him to do.

  Tonight he just wanted to do the cover. He had a fine brush and a small pot of gold paint. He took a sip from the glass sitting beside him and picked up the brush.

  Dipping it in the paint, he started to apply it to the cover, then paused. He had meant to write Macht Wulf Rome. It was, after all, at his macht’s behest that he wrote this tome.

  He shook his head. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t what Rome would want. Rome had ordered this book be written, not to immortalize or glorify himself, but so that future generations might learn from what they had gone through. As he had learned from the books of history left over from the days of Empire.

  Perganon started again. In large, bold letters he painted:

  Immortality and Chaos

  The End

  Return to Atria in the epic fantasy series

  Chaos and Retribution

  Book One: Stone Bound

  (click here to jump to free sample chapters)

  Before you go!

  I’d like to thank you for reading Oblivion’s Grasp. As much as I love writing, it takes readers to make the experience complete. A journey shared is a much more powerful experience.

  You may not be aware of this, but reviews are vitally important to unknown authors like me. They give other potential readers an idea of what to expect. So, if you have the time to leave one, I’d very much appreciate it. If you’re busy (and who isn’t?) leave a short one. Even one sentence is enough!

  Click here to leave a review.

  Join my Reader’s Group

  Website

  Blog

  Facebook

  Twitter

  One last thing: