“Now, this is our village,” he said, poking with the end of his j’na. He traced a long, serpentine trail through the sand, weaving it slowly around, never quite approaching where the ancient cities would have been found. Next to it, he made another swirl in the sand, this one larger than anything he’d made before. “This is the waste, or what we know of it. Leagues of sand and rock, with nothing growing,” he went on. “Never before have we considered the possibility that we could make this crossing. Never before have any of Rens ever thought to risk themselves.”
“Father?” she said. What was he getting at?
“Long ago, when Ter attacked, pushing our people from their homes, killing those who remained, Rens took to the desert, knowing that water seeking would keep us safe and that the Stormbringer would watch over us as he always had before. So many were lost.” His voice took on a wistful tone. “Great men and women.” He said the last with a hitch to his voice, and Ciara knew he thought of her mother.
Ness never spoke of her, other than to say that she was a proud and strong woman, one Ciara was said to resemble, especially with her deep black hair and oval face. Once, he’d claimed that her mother would be pleased with the woman Ciara had become, but that had been in a moment of celebration after Ciara had helped find enough water to last a full two weeks. It meant the village could have some stability, a few days of not waiting for the next storm. But he’d said nothing more since.
All Ciara knew was that her mother had been killed during one of the earliest Ter attacks, before they had taken to the edge of the waste. They had lived in a small city far from the border of the waste, without sand blowing as it did now, and her father had been one of the nya’shin, a water seeker, but also a farmer, using the thin stream flowing into the city to keep corn and chas, both growing well enough in the hot, arid land. When Ter attacked, many had died before the survivors from the city had fled. The village was all that remained.
“We settled along the edge of the waste. Connected to the rest of Rens through our seekers but separate, waiting for the threat to pass, trying to keep the people and spirit of Rens alive.” He tapped his j’na and sighed. “All this time, nothing has changed. You are right in that, daughter. It is our time to move again, to find a true home. To unite Rens.”
“Father?”
Ness moved his j’na and slipped it back into the loops of his belt. When he looked over at her, intensity burned in his eyes, brighter than the moonlight would account for. “You would have us cross the waste.”
“If you don’t think that we should, or that we will suffer if we do…” Ciara didn’t know what her father was getting at by telling this story.
He patted her on the shoulder and breathed out heavily. For a moment, the winds shifted again, a warm breeze billowing in from the south, but then it was gone, the cool northern wind replacing it. Ciara pulled her elouf more tightly around her.
“That’s not why I tell this story.” Her father fell silent for a few moments, staring into the darkness. “Tell me, Ciara, what is in your heart?”
She frowned. Why change the direction of the conversation? Did he want to know about the way her heart fluttered when she saw Fas? Did he sense the way her pulse quickened around the dark-haired nya’shin? Likely even Fas knew but was either uninterested or amused by the fact. Either way, he’d never said anything to her.
“I long to find water, to help the village,” she said carefully.
Her father grunted. “Is that all that lives within your heart, Ciara? You want nothing but to find water?”
She knew he didn’t need to ask what she truly desired. More than anything, she wanted to manipulate water, not only seek it. Helping the village, serving as nya’shin, was part of the reason, but sensing the power of water but never being quite strong enough to reach it herself filled her with a longing greater than anything she had ever known. As al’asan, her father would never understand that longing, and would never know what she would do to reach it.
“I am nya’shin, Father. I serve as the village needs.”
He was silent again as he stared into the desert. When he spoke, his voice took on a distant tone. “Sometimes the needs of the village coincide with the needs of the soul. Other times, the needs of the people coincide with the needs of the soul.”
“Aren’t the village and the people the same?”
“Are they? Is your heart you? Are your eyes you? Or are they a part of something greater, this wonderful creation of the Stormbringer?”
Ciara shook her head. Her father spoke in riddles again, as if she should understand his point. She still didn’t know if he implied that she would lead the village astray by taking them across the waste, that it was unknown whether they would survive the journey. And if they did not, the people—and the village—would suffer and die.
“I am me,” she said.
He patted her on the shoulder again. “Indeed. You are so much like your mother, and you are what the Stormbringer made of you. As we all are. As is the village, broken and divided from Rens, but still part of something greater.”
Frustration got the best of her and Ciara snapped. “How is the village part of something greater? When was the last time that we saw another village? We struggle, not even knowing if the others still exist, unsure whether Ter has destroyed them.”
“You’re a water seeker and one of the nya’shin. Do you mean for me to believe that you can’t sense the other villages?”
Ciara knew that she could, but what she sensed of those villages was distant, more remote than even the sense of water she detected. What use was there in knowing other villages existed if they couldn’t reach them? Would the people of Rens always be forced to be separate, always searching for the next source of water, always taking what they could, until eventually only the desert survived?
Maybe that was the point her father tried to make. If they could cross the waste, if they could reach a source of water and find a measure of safety, maybe they would finally reach that which they needed.
How many would be lost as they strove to make the crossing? They’d lost nearly fifty in the attack. Prior to that, the most they’d lost had been a few who succumbed to the heat and dehydration, men and women who no longer required water and returned to the desert to once more become one with the sand.
But crossing the waste required a different sort of fortitude. She considered some of the older villagers, those who already struggled with the pace. Would Usal and Thyl and Jors make it? How about the younger villagers, like Alys and Dris and Shil?
Even if they reached the source of water, would it matter if they had sacrificed everything to get there? Would it matter if there was no village to survive?
Her father watched her, as if aware of the battle raging within her mind. Could this be some kind of test? The nya’shin were often tested, challenged until they fully claimed their spear. If this was another, was she meant to try to turn her father back, to find another—and safer—source of water? Only, Ciara didn’t know if there was another source, not near enough that they would ever reach it.
“You’re silent, daughter.”
“What are you trying to tell me? Stop talking in riddles and make it clear.”
He smiled, and it was a sad smile as he touched the shaft of his j’na, running his fingers along it. “You see riddles where I see truths.”
“What truths then? We should be dead! Ter attacked, and the draasin circled overhead. Twice! What truths do you know that kept us alive? What truths do you keep from me?” she demanded. She was speaking more loudly than she should but realized that her voice wouldn’t carry back to the villagers. The cold northern wind caught at her words, tearing them away from her on gusts scented with the distant hint of trees.
Ness watched her for a moment, the moonlight sending a shaft of light along his cheek, making his eyes glow. Then he turned and looked out toward the desert, staring into the darkness. “You’re not ready, Ciara.” He sighed. “I brought you
here thinking that you might be, but not yet. Answers will come in time.”
He turned, leaving her standing on the edge of the camp, shivering against the cold and the darkness of night.
14
Jasn
Many consider the draasin of equal intelligence to man, but those who know them best suspect their intellect exceeds that of man. If true, this poses problems for the college.
—Lren Atunal, Cardinal of the College of Scholars
Jasn was shaken awake from a deep sleep, dreams of missed moments with Katya haunting him—the last time they’d seen each other, the soft caress she’d laid on his face, telling him that she would return. Only she never did. She had always been the more skilled shaper of the two of them, and even that hadn’t kept her alive.
Neither had the lessons he’d learned in Atenas, time wasted studying with Oliver and the other masters, healing arts that had failed him when it mattered most. Nothing had helped him then.
Bayan leaned over him. “Come on. Time to go.”
Jasn looked around his room. He’d been given sparse quarters: a bed, a trunk, and a washbasin. Not nearly the exotic space warriors were granted in Atenas, but better than he’d had in Rens. “Go where?” He tried rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, but exhaustion from shaping earth much of the day threatened to pull him back to sleep.
“Training.”
“What time is it?”
“Near dawn. Come.”
Jasn got up and dressed as quickly as he could, making certain to slip on his sword and cover it with a cloak before following Bayan out of his room and into the street outside. A chill hung on the air, and a mist layered atop the ground like a low-lying cloud.
“Where are we going?” he asked, catching up to Bayan.
She moved quickly, her feet light, and Jasn realized for the first time that he barely registered a sense of her moving, almost identical to what he noticed with Alena. How did they hide themselves from earth shaping with such completeness that he hardly detected them?
If nothing else, the fact that Bayan managed it almost as well as Alena made him think he could learn it. Maybe Alena would eventually teach him. Being able to hide his approach would be a valuable skill.
“Where do you think?” Bayan asked.
They stopped at the pen holding the smaller draasin, not the one he’d worked with Wyath to contain, and the fog was denser here. Bayan touched the stone and crafted a quick shaping. A darkened doorway appeared, leading inside the pen. Heat drifted from it and met the cool morning air, causing the mist to thicken and hang around the pen, hiding the stone, and the letters carved into it, from sight.
Bayan pushed him into the doorway with a soft nudge. Jasn resisted at first, stretching out with a useless earth sensing to try to detect where the draasin might be within the pen, but failing. He switched to wind, pulling on the cool breeze and dissipating the mist before wondering if Alena would have wanted him to do that. Maybe she wanted the mist collecting around the pen.
Inside the enclosure, the chained draasin rested against the wall, its eyes so bright they practically glowed. A long tail twitched but otherwise didn’t move. Chains wrapped around both wings held it bound in place, linked to massive iron rings embedded in the wall. Was it the stone chains or the connection to the pen that trapped it the most?
“Where’s Alena?” Jasn asked.
Bayan stepped inside the pen and touched the wall. It rumbled softly, but Jasn didn’t sense the shaping as it closed once more, locking them inside with the creature. A steady eagerness began to build within him as Bayan lit the lanterns hanging around the inside of the pen.
“You need to understand them if you’re going to survive. I don’t know why, but she wants you to fail, and I overheard that you have the first test coming up soon.”
Jasn had begun to feel the same way, but hearing Bayan say it made him think it was most likely to be real. “What test?” It was the first Jasn had heard of any test.
“All in training are tested. There are steps. Usually, the first test doesn’t come until you’ve been here longer, but Alena intends to see you tested sooner. Now, if you don’t want to wash out—and given the fact that the commander himself brought you here, I don’t think you do—you need to begin to understand a few things about the draasin.”
Bayan started toward the creature, her hand raised very much like Alena’s. Bayan shaped, and this time, Jasn could sense it, but now he wondered if he was intended to sense it. How often did Alena shape that he couldn’t detect? Was her shaping all of what she considered teaching? That wasn’t how he had been taught in Atenas, but then again, none of the methods in the barracks were how he had been taught in Atenas.
“You have to approach carefully, and with earth and water,” Bayan said. She kept her eyes fixed on the draasin, still moving carefully forward and not looking away. “Water to subdue, earth to contain. You’re a strong earth shaper?”
Jasn nodded, realizing that she didn’t look back to see him nod. “Yes,” he answered. “Strong enough.” Water shaping had come first, but then earth. He wasn’t weak with wind or fire, but not as strong as he was with the other elements.
“Good. Figured you must be or else he wouldn’t have brought you here. Most are strong earth shapers to begin. I was water.”
“And Alena?” he asked, approaching carefully, holding earth and water ready but not certain how to use them as Bayan suggested.
“Stars only know. That woman doesn’t seem to have any weakness with elements. That’s why we train, to eliminate ours as well. She’s probably made a point of forcing you to use your weaknesses?”
The way Alena had taken away earth and water from him had made him use the other elements, but had she taught him anything about them or simply made him use what he already knew?
“Probably,” Jasn agreed.
This close to the draasin, he could see the colors of its scales. There was blue but also silver and hints of gold. As much as he hated to admit it, the coloring was actually quite lovely. Heat pressed off the scales, almost painfully hot, leading to a hint of more color.
“You see how they use fire?” Bayan asked. “They control it, almost as if they’re a part of fire itself. Most think they have something like our shaping ability.”
Jasn stared at it, wondering how creatures like that could shape, but then he’d seen wolves track a deer through the mountains for miles, as if they had earth sensing. Why couldn’t a creature like the draasin be able to shape?
“They’re smart, too,” Bayan went on. “They use their shaping to hide, sometimes in places where you think you’ve looked.” She risked a glance over her shoulder and caught Jasn’s eye. “I know Alena has begun working with you on finding them. That’s a beginning. Every hunter must learn and has to be tested,” she said, turning her full attention back to the creature. “If you can’t find the draasin when another shaper attempts to hide them, it will be almost impossible to find it when they’re hunting you.”
A thrill went up his spine at the mention of one of the draasin hunting him. He’d been hunted often enough in Rens, but they’d never managed to capture him, regardless of how much he might have been willing to let them. The creatures had an unnatural intelligence in the way they watched him, looking at him almost as if reading his mind and knowing how much he hated them. The flash of fire behind its eyes almost made Jasn think the feeling was mutual.
“Alena left it at the edge of the forest,” he said.
Bayan nodded. “That’s the start. Most would think you’re doing well, already getting to the point where she had you searching for the draasin, but I overhead what she said to Wyath. She has no intention to see you make it through.”
Alena was determined to see him wash out, only he didn’t know why. Did she hate the fact that Lachen had brought him to the barracks, or was there another reason?
“I know.”
Bayan offered him a quick smile. “If you learn to listen to the sign
s, you’ll do fine. Pay attention to things that shouldn’t be there. That’s the first stage.”
Jasn nodded. It was much like the roots from the night before.
“Then it will become subtler. You’ll have to use sensing in ways you didn’t think possible. Always pay attention to what should be there as much as what shouldn’t. Never stop sensing. The moment you do…”
She dropped her hand, releasing the shaping, and the draasin lunged.
Bayan brought her hand back up, and the creature took a step back. Jasn couldn’t help but be impressed at her skill. How long until he reached the same level of competence with them? If Alena had her way, maybe never.
Then again, he’d prefer to kill them than control them.
“How does Rens control them?” he asked as Bayan stretched a hand toward the draasin.
“I don’t think even Alena knows.” She reached the chain and pulled on it, moving the draasin, and then released. “That’s why we bring them here to study.”
He grunted, glancing around the pen. “I’m pretty sure Alena doesn’t want me in here.”
“If you can open the pen, you can enter. At least this one. The big one is different. Only the instructors can enter that one. Well, and Cheneth, but then he sort of goes wherever he wants anyway.”
Jasn almost smiled at the image of the scholar entering the pen, thinking about how he had taken notes the entire time Jasn had sat with him, almost unconcerned about what Jasn would do while in the camp. “Won’t the draasin…” He didn’t know how to finish the thought without offending Bayan.
“Won’t they what? They’re bound in stone. It counters the fire. Why else do you think I can stand so close to it without it harming me?”
Jasn suspected the smaller draasin was less dangerous. He wouldn’t be afraid to approach with a sheathed sword. But the other one, the bigger one kept in the pen that he’d helped Wyath seal closed, that one was dangerous. He’d felt the stone rumbling beneath his hand each time it slammed into the barrier around it.
Journey of Fire and Night (The Endless War Book 1) Page 12