Anda squeezed his arm, and he felt peace.
With the peace, an idea came to him, a different kind of understanding. The key wasn’t in pushing Raime back, he realized. Stretching out, he tried something new. He kept the pressure on what he could see and feel of Raime’s ahmaean but stretched out again from his own pool of energy.
His mind answered, the pulsating of it within him, and he could feel and see another strand come forth from him. It reached Raime, and Jakob let it drop, as if to cut away the ahmaean tendrils the High Priest had sent out.
Jakob felt his narrow band of ahmaean as it reached Raime’s, felt resistance, and pushed, tearing the black tendrils from him.
Raime screamed as the ahmaean came loose. It floated freely for a moment, hanging like a dark cloud, before dissipating into nothing and disappearing. Jakob pulled his own ahmaean back to him, afraid the same would happen to him.
Suddenly, a dozen more thick tendrils of ahmaean pushed out from Raime. They moved quickly—more quickly than the last time—forcing Jakob to react.
He sent out a barrier, protecting himself, and the thick ahmaean beat uselessly on the wall Jakob created. Again and again, Raime pressed his ahmaean upon Jakob, each time uselessly.
Raime screamed and rushed at Jakob.
He was fast.
If Jakob had not honed his reaction time by working the sword with Endric, he was not sure he would have survived. As it was, the High Priest hit him with an open hand before Jakob managed to pull at the new part of his mind, pushing out with another wall of his ahmaean.
Time slowed.
The High Priest froze as he rushed him, as if running through water. A strange light came into the man’s eyes, and his jaw clenched as it worked to speak. Jakob ignored the High Priest, focusing on his ahmaean, understanding that it was the High Priest’s strength.
Dark ahmaean still flickered, snaking toward him. Waves of hopelessness and despair came with it as it flowed around him, but he recognized it now and ignored it.
In the clarity and heightened senses of his ahmaean, he noticed something different, something unexpected. He saw something about Raime’s ahmaean he had not seen before. Before he had seen only a thick black fog, now he saw smaller shapes within it. They vibrated with their own energy, flickering and dancing throughout the fog of ahmaean.
It wasn’t just the haze of energy that had these smaller shapes. They were within the High Priest himself, and he saw how their energy held him together.
Jakob reached out with his mind, grasping at these small energies. He could almost feel them; they seemed individual physical entities.
Pulling back, he held them within his ahmaean as he had with the ahmaean of his sword. Raime reacted with agony and fear, and Jakob felt an onslaught of pressure against his mind.
He did not relax.
The fire in the High Priest’s eyes flickered a moment before dimming. Raime thrashed a few more moments, a slow spastic kick that nearly connected.
What effect did pulling at the energy have on Raime?
There was a frantic resistance to the energy Jakob had trapped.
And Jakob felt it slipping. His control over the ahmaean he had acquired was incomplete. What would happen if the High Priest recovered?
Jakob probed with his ahmaean, feeling the energy around him, that which was worked into the stone of the Tower itself, and pulled, using the massive amounts of ahmaean from everywhere around him.
Suddenly, the resistance faltered, and the High Priest crumpled to the ground.
A sharp pain shot through Jakob’s head, between his eyes, and he released the borrowed energy. The pressure eased, and time snapped forward again.
On the table, Alyta struggled, her breathing labored. A pained expression painted Alyta’s face. She was dying.
Anda stood over her, tears coursing down her cheeks from wide brown eyes.
As he ran to Alyta, he still felt what he’d pulled from the High Priest trapped within his mind. It vibrated within him, as if begging for release. He glanced over and saw the High Priest still in a heap, with his cloak swirled around him, and released that energy. His mind tingled as he did.
He ignored it and turned back to Alyta.
The chains still held down her legs and arms, and he looked up at Anda. Anda touched the chains at Alyta’s wrists lightly, and they dropped quickly to the ground. Walking around to the end of the table, she did the same with those at her feet.
“I use the last of her energy,” she explained. “I do nothing but guide it.”
He nodded, not truly understanding.
Alyta lay silent, her breaths shallow. She had little time left. He gently took her shoulders and helped her to sit. She smiled as he did.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You are,” she started, struggling with each breath. “More than I had hoped. More than I had dreamed.”
“What am I?” he asked, uncertain.
Anda took his hand, and relaxation washed over him.
Alyta nodded, eyes sparkling as she seemed to read his thoughts. “You will have your answers,” she told him. “I think I have time for that.”
Epilogue
“I am glad you came,” Alyta told him, a little more strength coming to her. “And you,” she said, turning to Anda. “Brohmin did well bringing you both to me.” She glanced toward the spot where Brohmin had fallen.
Jakob turned and saw that where Brohmin had fallen, there was now only a dark pool of his blood. “How?”
“He was once only a man, but he served us well and was rewarded. He will serve us still.”
“After what happened, how can he still live?”
Alyta smiled sadly back at him. It reached her blue-green eyes, and they seemed to reflect her sorrow. “He was given the same gift I gave to you. It allowed him to serve longer.”
It explained much. Jakob had known that Brohmin had some abilities, but not what they were. Knowing that he’d been giving power from the gods, it explained how he had seemed almost a Mage. It explained how he had been able to battle with Raime, if only for a short time.
“I am sorry we came too late,” Jakob said.
Alyta reached out her hand to him. “You were not late.”
“It wasn’t enough. We weren’t enough.”
Alyta laughed lightly. “You came with the key, and you used it as was needed. Neamiin was the key I needed. A guide.”
“That’s what Anda told me,” he said. “But what does it mean?”
She paused to catch her breath before answering. Every word was hard, every sentence a battle for breath. “You, like Brohmin before you, are a Uniter.”
“The nemah?”
“Perhaps. Time will tell. Know that in times of great struggle and destruction, a Uniter was found. The person could restore the balance, could protect that which cannot be seen.” She breathed hard with the effort of speaking. “The Magi have called them the peace bringers, and that is true enough, but they fail to recognize the truth of the fibers.”
She fell silent for a moment, and Jakob looked over to Anda.
Alyta took a slow, ragged breath. “All people have many paths before them,” she went on. “They choose to travel whichever path suits them, growing into the path that is their life. Each Uniter’s path led toward peace.”
“And me?” he asked. “What of my paths?”
She ignored the question a moment. “The last Uniter chosen by the Conclave was given a gift to help him. It was a weapon gifted with the ahmaean of both damahne and daneamiin.”
The words stirred within him a memory, a vision, one that had come to him while he was within the house of the Cala maah. His sword, Neamiin. Anda had told him that daneamiin had sacrificed for the sword, but not damahne.
Jakob looked over to his sword, still buried to its hilt in the wall. “In the Cala maah, I saw Niall given the sword.”
Alyta nodded. “Yes.”
“It has been in my family,” he started again.
Alyta nodded. “For many years, your family has guarded it. The Conclave has thought it lost.”
“And my paths?” Jakob asked.
“You confused me at first, but you gave me hope as well.” Her eyes locked on his. “Your paths lead to peace or…” she trailed off.
“Or what?” he asked.
She did not answer.
“Or what?” he asked again.
“Or to nothing,” she finished. Her voice was quiet.
“Nothing? What does that mean?”
“I do not know, but I suspect it’s why Raime sought you.”
“So I can either bring peace,” he began, “or nothing?”
“Difficult paths,” Alyta told him. “Neither easy.”
“Am I the nemah? Brohmin seemed to think that I was,” he said.
“You are a Uniter, but you are also much more than I could have dreamed,” she said, sighing. “You are like me.”
“How is that possible?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“I had not thought it possible, yet… after everything, I should not be surprised. Long ago, the damahne, the daneamiin, and the humans all intermixed. It was rare, but these mixings took place.”
“I saw that in my visions.”
“Yes. These mixings produced the Magi,” she answered. “Their abilities are nothing more than a dilution of what you and I and Anda have.”
The idea made a strange sort of sense. “Then how can I be like you?”
“I think the fibers finally brought together the right mix of what was needed. And you were born.”
“How did you know?”
“I wasn’t sure until I sent you my ahmaean.”
His eyes narrowed. “What would have happened had you been wrong?”
“It has been a long time since I felt the birth of a damahne. It is a disturbance along the fibers, and subtle. I had hoped, but could not be sure. Perhaps I had been mistaken. For years, I have searched and found nothing, leaving madness in my wake.” She paused a moment. “When you grabbed my wrists, I felt your ahmaean, your energy, and it added to mine. Only another damahne could do that.” Her blue-green eyes focused on him. “And I knew.”
“What did you do?” he asked her quietly, suspecting.
“I did what has been done for ages,” she answered. “A dying Damahne passes to another.”
“You had so much ahmaean. How could you be dying?”
“Raime did something, but my time was near. Better that you inherit the ahmaean. It belongs to the damahne.”
“The markings?” he asked.
She nodded. “An evil. Were it that he never learned that trick.”
“But Salindra had them and was healed,” he said.
“It’s different for the Magi. My healing would cost the lives of countless daneamiin. Many before me have passed their ahmaean onto me,” she told him. “I chose to pass it all onto you.”
“We would have healed you,” Anda said.
Alyta looked at her sadly. “I know you would. I could not let you pay that price.” Alyta turned to Jakob. “You have had visions?”
Jakob nodded. “Dreams. Some so real I thought I was there.”
“Some I have sent you. I am sorry for that, but my need was great. The rest were not dreams. You have walked the fibers of time to see the past. It is what you are, what you will become.” She labored a moment for breath, and Anda’s face darkened with worry. Alyta brushed her off. “Thank you, Anda, but I still have some strength in me. As you grow stronger, Jakob, you will be able to step into the past, take yourself along the fibers to the past.”
A memory of being in the heart of the Great Forest, of being Shoren, came to him. He remembered how he felt as though he was losing himself, as if he was becoming the man. He remembered waking frightened. Another time, he faced the groeliin, tearing a hole in the ground with his thoughts.
“I have,” he whispered.
Alyta looked surprised. “You’re lucky you were not lost. When you step along the fibers, it is easy… to lose yourself in someone else.”
He had almost lost himself in Shoren. “Anda said that I’ve walked back along my ancestors. Why does that happen?”
“They are a coming of age for a young damahne,” she said. “You can step back and watch your ancestors,” she continued. “Or become… them as you grow stronger. I am sorry I will not be able to guide you through these changes. I am sorry you will not have a teacher as other damahne have had. Things will happen,” she told him weakly. “Strange things. You must understand that it is only your abilities coming to you. Your birthright.”
“You are the last of us now, Jakob,” Alyta whispered to him. “You must find the source of knowledge and understand… your purpose, your role.” She paused, gasping for air. “There is so much more I need to tell you,” she started, before falling silent.
They laid her down gently. Jakob could see the powerful woman she once was.
She turned her head toward him, “There is a place of knowing,” she began but did not finish.
Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he closed Alyta’s still-open eyes. She seemed to be smiling in death.
“What now?” Anda asked him.
He did not know. Everything seemed so different now. “I need to find the place she spoke about, but we can’t leave her here. Not like this.”
Anda squeezed his hand again. “We will take her from here, to a proper place.”
He stepped toward the wall and grabbed his sword. As he did, he felt the light pulsing in his mind. The new awareness came forward and helped him pull, and the blade slid easily from the wall.
As he walked back, stepping over Raime’s cloak, he noticed it was flat, bodiless.
Jakob picked Alyta’s body up, cradling her in his arms.
“I will guide you,” Anda told him.
“Where are we going?” Jakob asked.
“The forest,” she said.
Anda touched his arm, and he felt a tug at his mind followed by movement.
Raime looked up at the stone of the mountain and welcomed the bite of the cold wind. It whipped through him, and he felt naked without his cloak. It seemed only appropriate for his anger. He would walk, he decided. It would help him vent his rage.
As he walked, the stone of the mountain seemed to tremble. Huge boulders flung themselves out of his way, leaving an unobstructed path. The rock at least would feel his fury.
He could not believe his failure. His groeliin, beaten by a handful of Magi? He had not counted on the forest. Damn damahne and the power of the forest! With the number of beasts he had directed south, the city should have been overflowing with them. He would not underestimate the Magi again. No, the next time, no Mage would stop him.
Then there was the disappointment of the Deshmahne. Somehow, Endric had mustered enough support to stop them in the north. That would not happen again.
And that boy! The thought nearly made him crazy.
What was that boy? He was no Mage, he knew that.
It did not seem possible that he was anything else, but there seemed only one explanation. He should have killed him earlier. He would not make the same mistake again.
He reached a cave mouth high up on the mountain and passed through. He saw one of the mindless men. The sight of it reminded him of the boy, and he screamed, bringing his fist down toward the man’s face. It exploded in a burst of blood, and the body dropped. It brought little satisfaction.
He reached the huge, open hall and looked down upon the groeliin breeding grounds. He would bring greater numbers the next time. Much greater. As he watched, one of the bitches gave birth. Six of the beasts crawled about the placenta, gnawing at it immediately, their fierce teeth biting at each other. He heard one squeal and watched as the bitch brought her fist down, crushing it.
He smiled. Only the strongest this time, he thought, and they will destroy everything. It would be their punishment for what they took from him.
He
felt the fire of his eyes dance, and he laughed.
Book 4 of The Lost Prophecy: Twist of the Fibers.
With the groeliin attack stopped and the Deshmahne defeated in the north, there is a tentative peace, but war still threatens. The south remains unsettled and, though weakened, Raime has escaped. The key to stopping coming war rests with scattered allies, but can they survive long enough to work together in time to prevent another destruction?
Roelle, injured and near death, must find the healing necessary so that she can rebuild the Magi warriors. Alriyn searches for answers in an unlikely place, leading the Magi toward a path they had never considered. Isandra travels north where the Antrilii have uncovered something not seen in a thousand years.
Jakob now understands the reason for his growing powers, but there is much for him to learn about what it means for him to be one of the damahne. His search for answers leads him along the fibers and into the past, where he discovers Raime’s influence. If Jakob fails to master his powers in time, Raime will grow even stronger than before, and this time, there will be none who can stop him.
Want to read more about Endric? Grab Soldier Son, Book 1 of The Teralin Sword.
As the second son of the general of the Denraen, Endric wants only to fight, not the commission his father demands of him. When a strange attack in the south leads to the loss of someone close to him, only Endric seems concerned about what happened.
All signs point to an attack on the city, and betrayal by someone deep within the Denraen, but his father no longer trusts his judgment. This forces Endric to make another impulsive decision, one that leads him far from the city on a journey where he discovers how little he knew, and how much more he has to understand. If he can prove himself in time, and with the help of his new allies, he might be able to stop a greater disaster.
Author’s Note
The Lost Prophecy Boxset Page 99