Journey of Fire and Night (The Endless War Book 1)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “What happened to him?” Fas asked.

  Ciara shook her head. “Fire. An attack.”

  There weren’t many attacks that looked like this. Really, there was only one that she could think of, but it made no sense for the draasin to attack, even if they had been acting strangely lately.

  “You think this draasin?” Fas asked.

  From his tone, she knew he questioned it as well. Ciara turned her eyes to the sky. The shaisa shielded them from the brightness of the sun, but not so much that she would have missed seeing an attack. If it had been draasin, why had they not fed? The draasin could be brutal creatures, but why hunt and kill Eshan and then leave him behind?

  Another question came to her, one with no other answer: where was Eshan’s j’na?

  7

  Ciara

  How can one survive so long at the edge of the waste? The place shatters all but the heartiest and requires an almost religious devotion to the great storms that rage violently through those lands.

  —Lren Atunal, Cardinal of the College of Scholars

  The thick hide walls of the tent surrounded Ciara, smoke lingering from the fire from the night before. The days might be blistering hot in Rens, but the temperature at night dropped quickly and could be dangerous if one was unprepared. Worse than the cold was the dark. In this part of Rens, the darkness was overwhelming and terrifying. Living beneath the heat of the sun like they did, there was something different about the lack of light, almost a malevolence. Ciara was perfectly happy to stay by the hearth.

  Her father, Ness, stood in front of the remains of the fire, cleaning char off the end of a long, slender rod as he sharpened it, almost as if preparing another j’na, but he’d claimed his long enough ago that the spear had a smooth, weathered appearance to it from all the years spent squeezed in his palms. He had not bothered to look up as she entered.

  Ciara suspected his water seeking allowed him to recognize that she entered, much like hers communicated that his pulse thrummed more quickly through his veins than usual, a sure sign of his irritation.

  Ciara didn’t need to be a water seeker to know he was upset. The pulsing vein in his forehead told her that nearly as well, as did the firm way he gripped the knife he worked along the rod, sliding it with more force than was really necessary. She waited, not daring to speak to him until he was ready to address her.

  She checked her shaisa veil, making certain it was situated appropriately. She didn’t want to risk irritating him further with something as simple as a veil, not when so much else would anger him equally well.

  “You bother to wear the veil now, but not while scouting?” he admonished.

  Ciara couldn’t help but feel impressed that he’d managed to note her actions without needing to turn. Could his water seeking be so powerful that he knew so much? “I’m sorry, Father,” she said, dropping her hands to her waist, fingering the long knife sheathed there.

  Her other hand went to her pocket, where the irregular piece of glass she’d claimed from the desert still rested. It was sharp and had cut her hand more than once, but she had felt compelled to bring it with her. If one of the draasin had killed Eshan, having draasin glass might prove useful. It weighed heavily in her pocket, and in spite of what had happened to Eshan, there was a certain luck in discovering draasin glass.

  “Tell me again, Ciara, how Eshan was lost.”

  She’d told the story nearly a dozen times, often enough that she spoke it by rote. When she and Fas had returned from the waste carrying Eshan’s body, the questions had come almost immediately. First from the scouts patrolling the fringes of the village, then from the children playing in the rocks ranging away from the village, and finally from countless people once they reached the village itself. It felt different telling the tale to one of the council, even if he was her father.

  “Eshan turned west,” she started. As always, she left out the part where Eshan had threatened her, knowing that it served no purpose to dishonor him now. “Fas and I trailed. When we crested a rise, we sensed that he was down. I don’t know what happened, Father.”

  His hands stopped scraping along the edge of the long rod. Ciara noted the steady spiral pattern that he worked around the thick length of wood that repeated in a steady loop around it. What was he carving?

  She’d rarely seen him work with such intensity. Had he heard something from one of the distant villages? The Stormbringer knew that news was infrequent enough, especially these days. Often enough that they knew others still existed, but rare enough that they were left wondering what might have happened. If Ter found them here, this far into Rens, then they would truly be lost.

  “You were scouting together?”

  She hesitated before nodding. Questions about whether they’d seen the attack or heard evidence of the draasin usually came next. What did he think to get at by asking about how they scouted?

  “We were,” she said.

  Finally, he turned to her. His eyes were a flat gray that she’d always found welcoming. Others found them hard and often angry, but she had known him to be gentle and tender with her. He could be hard, but it was always with a reason. Now they had a reason to be harder with her. Wrinkles pulled at the corners of his mouth, pulling his deeply tanned cheeks into a frown.

  His hands squeezed the wooden staff he worked, his knuckles whitening. “Why had Eshan ranged ahead?”

  “He… he was angry with me,” she said in a rush, feeling ashamed that she was forced to admit what happened. “He went west, and I lagged behind.”

  “Why did you lag behind?”

  Ciara debated how to answer. Did she admit that she had wanted to investigate across the waste? Her father had already told her that she could not, so admitting that she had considered it would only anger him.

  “You thought to search for the draasin,” he said.

  She sighed and nodded.

  His frown deepened. “You are to be a nya’shin, Ciara. It is a difficult position for most men who can manipulate water. How do you intend to succeed as a woman—and a seeker only, at that—if you are unwilling to do what you know is right?”

  Ciara stared at her hands, knowing that she should have said something. Maybe if she had, Eshan wouldn’t have died. Maybe the draasin wouldn’t have attacked him, or maybe they would have all perished.

  “What would have happened had you found them? Do you think the draasin would not protect their stores?”

  “I only wanted to see if there was anything—”

  “The village will suffer if we can’t find water soon. Crossing the waste isn’t possible. We need all our seekers searching for hidden wells, especially now that we’ve lost Eshan. That is what you must do.” Her father lowered the shaping blade to the ground and tapped shavings of ash from the slender wooden rod. “Moving south is dangerous. That brings us deeper into the waste, farther into inhospitable lands that were never meant for man to survive.”

  “Just as west brings us closer to Ter and their shapers. At least through the waste we have a chance,” Ciara said. “We can’t continue on like this, Father. Eventually we’ll have to decide between remaining on the border or risking a full crossing.” A full crossing meant the entire village. If they failed to find water, something would have to be done.

  Her father tapped the rod again, sending a spray of ash falling to the ground, where he pushed it away with his sandaled foot. “Water is sparse enough along the edge of the waste, Ciara. How do you think even our strongest seekers will be able to find it once you enter the waste?” He tapped the rod once more. “We don’t even have enough water for the journey, not if we intend for our people to survive.”

  “Survive? That is all we do, Father. When will we live?”

  “The Stormbringer will provide. Since we were forced into these lands, he always has, and has watched over us as well. You must be ready to search, to help your people.” He fixed her with his intense gray-eyed stare, and Ciara couldn’t look away.

 
; “That is all I have ever wanted.”

  Her father gripped the carving and pushed himself to his feet. “I know that it has.” He handed her the wooden staff, and she took it with a frown. “Every nya’shin must form their j’na, but each is given a start from another seeker. Eshan is gone, and you have grown too fond of Fas”—she flushed as he said it, wishing she could hide her emotions better—“for him to be a reasonable choice. It may have been many years since I served as a seeker, but here.”

  Ciara took it carefully, rolling it between her hands. The beginning of the spear was more slender than Fas or Eshan’s had been, but then it was meant for someone with less strength to wield. The patterns carved along the edge of the spear were more intricate when seen up close than they had appeared when she’d first observed her father carving them.

  The Rens language consisted of a series of shapes to make phrases. In that way, it was more complicated than the letters used by Ter and Galen and managed to convey some sense of emotion with it. Her father had carved with care, using phrases that spelled out “Pride of the People” and “Great Listener.” Beyond the phrases carved on the spear were shapes she didn’t recognize, ones that were different than any that had been on Eshan or Fas’s j’na.

  “I do not deserve such praise,” she said. “After Eshan was lost, I thought you would no longer allow me to serve as a seeker.”

  “I cannot deny that it is difficult watching you, Ciara. You chose to follow me and have taken the first steps in that direction. Already you have faced much difficulty, but there will be more to come. That is the life of a nya’shin. That is the life of one destined to lead.”

  He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Eshan should never have separated from you. As lead seeker, the command—and the mistake—falls on him. What you do now is up to you.” He tapped the side of the spear, running his fingers along the phrase for Great Listener. “I pray to the Stormbringer that you will lead us safely. Work on your j’na. Craft it carefully, for it will guide you in the coming days. Know that you deserve to carry it. The moment you feel unworthy is the moment the Stormbringer will pull it from you.”

  Ciara found Fas along the edge of the village. Scattered along the hills that provided protection from the heat of the sun were caverns, dotting the rock behind him. He crouched at the base of the finger of rock, looking up but not climbing. His lips were pinched in a pensive frown.

  Fas’s heart beat steadily in his chest, a regular pulsing of blood that Ciara could detect from the far side of the village with barely any thought or attempt to shape. Her father was right; she had grown too fond of Fas, and it colored her response. To serve as water seeker, she needed to be clear of mind so that she could focus on the sense of water around her. With Fas, all she could focus on was the steady way his heart pounded in his chest, the hot rhythm of his blood in his veins, and…

  Ciara forced the thoughts away. They did nothing to help the village or her people.

  Tension pulled at Fas’s angular jaw, and though he held his j’na lightly, she recognized tension in his shoulders and his hands as well. Since Eshan’s passing, Fas had been more subdued. Ciara suspected that he blamed himself, likely thinking he should have remained with Eshan. But how could they have known? They’d seen no sign of the draasin, nothing to think Eshan would have been in any danger.

  Fas turned as she approached and quickly took in the fact that she carried the beginnings of a spear. “At least some good will come of this,” he said, then turned to face the waste again.

  “My father,” she explained.

  Fas nodded. “His skill has not diminished in the years since he first carved his j’na.”

  Ciara’s eyes were drawn to the markings along the shaft. Her father’s spear was widely considered one of the most impressive ever fashioned by one of the nya’shin within the village. He still had his j’na; most nya’shin too old to seek still had their spears. He kept his less ceremoniously than most, making it something like a walking stick where others used their j’na as decoration in their homes.

  “He didn’t ask about the draasin,” Ciara said.

  Fas’s heart quickened slightly, and he breathed out heavily. “The council does not think it was the draasin.”

  “There were no signs of shaping. We would have sensed—”

  “Would we? The shapers of Ter are more skilled than any of us. They use earth and obscure themselves. For all we know, they’re hiding out in the waste as we speak, waiting for us.”

  Ciara thought that unlikely. Nothing lived in the waste, not even the deadly shapers of Ter who had attacked the people of Rens for the past dozen years, pushing villages back and claiming land with every passing month. Massive swaths of ancient lands had been stolen over the years and thousands of Rens families killed, entire villages destroyed, and the ancient cities claimed by Ter. Each year, the border of Rens pushed south, almost to her village. The council had managed to keep them alive so far, but all feared that it was only a matter of time before shapers reached them. It had been years since the village had to move, and there was nowhere farther sought they could go without risking crossing the waste.

  “Nothing else burns that brightly, Fas. That was elemental fire. If that were shaping, we would have known.”

  That had to be elemental fire. Otherwise, any advantage Ciara thought they might have, the ability for the nya’shin to detect anything—even shapers from Ter—would be gone. With it would be any hope that Rens had of being able to withstand an attack.

  “You’ve not gone beyond the edge of the village, Ciara. You’ve not seen what they’re able to do.” He shook his head. “When I first claimed my j’na, I was sent beyond the rock, far to the north, to lands that once were Rens.”

  “They are still Rens,” she said.

  He grunted. “Are they? I think those lands are something else now. They might not be Ter yet, but how much longer?”

  Ciara sat there, rubbing her hands together. Between the fear of an attack from Rens and the constant concern about water, her people barely survived. “That’s why we need to move,” she said softly.

  “And go where? Return to the ancient cities?”

  “If we must.”

  Fas laughed. “You’ve heard the stories. Their shapers don’t even fear the draasin! They attack them as if they were some simple beast to hunt. Can you imagine how powerful they must be to hunt the draasin?”

  She ran her hand along the shaft of the spear, letting the patterns rub underneath her palm. “That’s not powerful. That’s stupid.”

  “Maybe a bit of both,” Fas agreed.

  They stared into the waste, silent for a time. Ciara sensed the way Fas’s heart slowed as he relaxed and recognized how hers did the same. He had that effect on her, but did she have it on him or was it simply that he’d stopped thinking about Eshan for a time?

  “What if we made a crossing?”

  Fas’s heart fluttered faster for a moment. “There’s nothing but sand and death in the waste, Ciara.”

  “The draasin—”

  “The draasin can fly over the waste. We must walk. Even were we to survive the crossing, there’s no guarantee that there’s anything beyond the waste.”

  “What if no rains come?” she asked.

  Fas glanced back to the village before turning back to stare out at the waste. “We are of Rens. We will survive.”

  She wouldn’t get anywhere with Fas, much like she wouldn’t get anywhere with her father. Were she able to manipulate water like Fas could, she might be able to convince them, but she could only sense it, nothing more. That made her less than the others in their eyes.

  She propped the spear over her thighs and considered Fas’s j’na. The shaft was ornately made, decorated with phrases for fire and perseverance and determination. All fitting descriptions for Fas. The scooped silver metal making up the tip of the spear had nearly as many decorations along it as the shaft of the spear. If Fas’s spear were anything like hers,
then someone had made the shaft for him, or at least started it. The rest of the j’na would have been up to him to complete.

  “You said the carving took two moons, but how long did it take you to finish your spear?”

  “The j’na of a nya’shin is never complete,” Fas answered absently. The words seemed to come easily to him, a practiced cadence to them. It was the stock answer for all who asked about the spears.

  “Maybe not complete, but there comes a time when you don’t sit and fashion your spear each day,” Ciara said. “How long to form the ashinth?”

  Fas touched the tip of his spear, running his thumb over the surface. Working the metal was one of the hardest parts of creating the j’na. “It took longer to find the lump of osidan.”

  Ciara had come across small nuggets of the strange dark metal found throughout Rens, but never anything that could be formed into her ashinth. Had she found anything of much size, she would have taken it with the hope that one day she would be able to use it for her j’na.

  “We ranged far to the east, with the peaks of mountains only barely visible. I came across it one night while searching with Eshan.” He smiled at the memory. “I remember how much grief he gave me until then, as if I wasn’t a real nya’shin until I fully formed my j’na.”

  Ciara glanced at her incomplete spear. Was that how Fas still viewed her? She had thought that acquiring the spear would help her feel more like one of the nya’shin, but maybe she wasn’t there yet, not until she found the next piece of the j’na. Even then, she still had to form the metal into the traditional shape and place her own words along the edge. Only then would she have completed the traditional j’na.