Last of the Temple Line

by Nicole Bedford

  Hands clenched, Dalaric watched the flames in the hearth dance. “Just when we thought ourselves lost, another of her kind stepped forward. In exchange for the promise to protect the few remaining humans he had sheltered from the war between Akkadians and humans, he vowed to gift his power to a line of women to give our younglings hope. Of these women, the witches and sages were born. Only the witches held power pure enough to undo the dark mana holding the Ki of our younglings’ captive.”

  Dalaric stared into the fire. "We accepted his offer. Every half-century, Akkadian youth traveled to the temples that had been built to protect those precious few women. It was there that we found our true power. Without the ability to Ascend, younglings are at the mercy of their Ki. Without protection to shield them from the most basic emotions of fear and anger, without mana wine to temper the power, they will all eventually fall into a violent bloodlust fed by the festered Ki that has been imprisoned by the mana until it explodes, killing the youngling and any who are near them."

  Emersyn's lips thinned. The story she had been raised on described a different beginning for Akkadian and human relations. Her mother and Paelia had told of Akkadian aggression fueled by greed against innocent people and salvation by the Mother. That she had weakened the dragons to save humanity from their evil. Some sages and even a few witches in recent years referred to those Akkadians that still shift into dragons as demons. Serpents of evil origins who would devour the world if allowed.

  Emersyn wondered if Lord Dalaric knew how many dark whispers echoed in the towns and villages against him without reason. Against all Akkadians. Fed by Wulfram and the worship of the Mother, the gossip had become more than talk in some hearts. Most people wanted to be free from the interference of what they considered befouled animals with evil souls. Though Lord Dalaric’s actions had been beyond reproach, Wulfram repeated the old stories to cast doubt upon the future of humanity so long as they were beholden to Akkadians.

  For herself, Emersyn had never seen cause to hate the Akkadians. She could not understand how anyone, human or Akkadian, could resent a Lord who had proven himself honorable in his treatment of all who lived beneath his rule. If there were Akkadians without honor, were there not also humans who lived without grace? That they were different did not merit hatred. Would people next harbor disgust of others for the color of their skin or the way their hair was washed? It was all silliness to her.

  She knew there had been a darkness in the past, though, her heart whispered. She saw it crawling in every vision, an insidious blasphemy against the good in all things. She had spoken of it to her mother, but Sariah had said it was simply a representation of the horrors of war. That her inner eyes had not seen clear.

  Dalaric considered Emersyn in silence. He had expected a greater reaction from her. Surprise. Shock. Hatred and denials. "What do you see in your witch visions?" he finally asked. He shifted closer to the female, instinctively placing her within easy reach as an unconscious need to settle the unease he could feel seething beneath her delicate flesh churned more fiercely within his soul.

  "I am sure my visions would hold no interest for you," she hedged. Emersyn bit her lip and attempted to shift minutely away from his imposing presence.

  Dalaric’s eyes darkened. Smoke curled in his belly. She contemplated deceit. For what reason could she have to lie to him? "The truth, Witch," he warned. "I will know otherwise."

  Her sun-kissed skin paled. Of course, he would, she bemoaned to herself. She knew better than to try to hide from the senses of an Akkadian, let alone a male of his caliber.

  Feeling merciful, Dalaric promised, "None will hear what you tell me now, Emersyn. Give me your visions in faith."

  "What, in particular, do you want to know about them?" she finally asked around the lump in her throat. Did she dare trust him with what she had no other? He was not human. He knew the tales of the past in a way that her mother and Paelia had not. Could she finally unburden herself?

  "What did you see of the past?”

  Her hands came up to clutch her arms in a white-knuckle grip. She hugged herself while a flood of terrible images flashed before her eyes. She took a deep breath. A part of her held back the full truth but she answered him as honestly as she could manage. "Humans had turned from good and were lost in evil the likes of which I cannot utter. Witches were hunted by sages until so few of us remained because we were the last of those not corrupted by a foul evil. The last hope to heal the hearts of man was in our hands. The lands lay in ruin. There was a foul darkness that sickened even the purest of hearts."

  Emersyn took another deep breath. "In my dreams, just before the last witch fell, thousands of dragons took to the sky. Some were even larger than you, though most were smaller." She studied him for a moment before adding, "The visions showed the war between humans and Akkadians. A few dreams showed families, human and Akkadian, before they were killed." She shuddered. Those had been the worst. "I remember one Akkadian. Your king, I think. He was strong. Stronger than the rest of them. He stormed the vast city that held the last of the human resistance and almost killed every last human there. Without people, without mana, the evil would cease to be."

  Emersyn's mouth opened and closed a few times before she continued, "I know you are speaking the truth. Humans were the reason for the lands to fail. But they were pushed to it by a terrible evil that crept into their hearts.”

  Dalaric regarded her thoughtfully with narrowed eyes that pierced her as deftly as a blade. The pit of his belly churned with the ash-touched remains of the large buck he had taken down an hour ago. “You speak of witches, yet we know them to have not existed until after the fall of the dark one. This, I will investigate. You are the first to speak of such. It is a unique re-telling of old history, Emersyn.”

  She shifted uneasily with the emphasis he placed on her name.

  "Do you want to know what the other witches have seen?" he asked. "What the sages have written in their tomes hidden deep in Wulfram?"

  Uncomfortable beneath his heavy gaze, Emersyn shook her head. She already knew what the others had seen. Her mother had coached her repeatedly to ensure she would always answer correctly if ever asked.

  Dalaric took a deep breath, inhaling her unique scent. Within the small space, it was a welcome and unique perfume that managed to overpower the stale, acrid odors that had assaulted his senses the previous day. She smelled of green things and the unfurled buds of wildflowers and warmth. Regardless of their age, the few witches he had interacted with had universally emitted a combination of old wood and bitter herbs overlaid with the sharp burn of spent mana.

  In his formative years, long before Varian’s hatching, he had accompanied his father to Wulfram and read the scrolls they horded there. Studied the many interviews the sages had carefully transcribed to describe the human experience as they knew it to be. She was the only witch to speak differently. It intrigued him. Was it possible that his people were wrong? Had witches existed before the fall of the Realm? It would explain why not all witches could power the Rite. But if that was so, what else was false in their understandings?

  "You wanted to know why you were selected for the Rite," he stated baldly to bring the subject back to the most pressing matter at hand. “The witches slowly deserted the temples. The Rite is painful. It steals from them the mana they felt was their right to wield as they wished. They could not bear children once the first Rite was initiated due to the unnatural influence of Ki upon their bodies. Their numbers dwindled until the last temple was abandoned. It became a lengthy matter to hunt down a daughter of the original line of temple witches to power the Rite for our younglings. To unweave the dark mana from their Ki. The women were always known to us by the mark on their skin that displays their unique lineage."

  Emersyn rubbed the back of her neck as shivers skated down her spine.

  Dalaric's long finger drew a circle intersected with three crossing lines in the air with a twist of glowing Ki. "The mark of the temple line," he
stated. "The power an Akkadian youngling will need for their Ascension beyond the dark one’s mana is given unto them, their pure mana to be given to the Akkadian children when called. A blessing and a curse."

  "A curse?”

  Dalaric's lips twisted. "Knowing that the salvation of our younglings lay within human blood stayed the hands that would have slayed them all long ago, even knowing the dark one would be ended with them."

  Emersyn swallowed back bile. "And you think I am one of those witches?" Emersyn asked, incredulous. "Most witches can weave mana barriers as large as an entire village. They are as fierce as a woman of Liindre and are powerful! I cannot even light a fire without a headache! Mana does not obey me any more than it does Will, and he is seven years old! My grimoire is the most pathetic any witch has ever possessed. The only true gift I have is in healing. Only then can I call mana without hurting myself."

  The Akkadian quirked a brow. "The mana within you is not for your use. This is as it has always been for the temple lines. During healing, the mana does not leave you. It cannot for reasons I have yet to reveal. It will only be called forth, in full, by Akkadian Rite."

  "How many more of us have you found?”

  Dalaric tilted his head to the side and replied, “You are the only one that I know to have been discovered in the last three centuries. Many younglings have perished since the last witch died during the Rite." Dalaric's hand clenched. “Those witches of your line have the mana bound to your body. Only of your heart is the power born and replenished. In this way it is protected from the many impurities that could prey upon it, keeping it from the dark one’s reach. Other witches make use of the mana of the natural world freely but will slowly be poisoned if the mana they touch is corrupt. For an Akkadian child to reach your mana they must draw it from you with their Ki. They will form a bridge of their essence to carry the mana to their inner being to unweave the dark barriers guarding their true potential. That is the Rite."

  "And this is painful?" Emersyn asked softly.

  "You were never meant to house Ki. We are not of your world. Ki and mana were not meant to co-exist. Ki is greater than mana which is why mana does not kill our younglings outright but can act as a slow poison. To humans, however, Ki is highly toxic. Even the small amount a youngling will need to feed into you will feel as if your flesh is burned by the light of a thousand suns. Your insides boiled from the foreign power. If you falter, if you run from the pain or fight the excruciating presence of the foreign power within you, the youngling will die."

  She swallowed. Hard. She cried when she stepped on a rock in the field. What he described sounded like torture untold.

  "Many witches had chosen in the past not to burden themselves with the pain of more than one Rite," he added. “The Ki will not kill you, despite the pain. It will recognize the pure mana within you." His fists clenched. "But it will make your female body inviolate to human seed while you give aid to the younglings. Only those witches of your line who had not performed the Rite yet could bear a child. The Ki within you will destroy the man's essence."

  Emersyn's heart stopped. "What?"

  He sighed. "Have you been educated on why the only Annunaki to exist are born of an Akkadian father and human mother?"

  She shook her head. "That isn't something Paelia has thought worthy of discussing," she said with a red face. "My mother fell ill before I was old enough to be taught such things."

  Dalaric raised a brow, amused by her embarrassment. "Only un-blooded Akkadian males, those who have not Ascended, can breed with a human. This has only been discovered in the last few hundred years due to the many un-blooded seeking human females for companionship while bolstered by mana wine from Wulfram. That we can breed has been a shock to my people given our exotic origins. The Ki of an Ascended male has killed human women in the past when they dallied with them. Just as the seed of a human male cannot penetrate the hard shell of an Akkadian female's egg."

  Emersyn considered her next words carefully. “If you are from a different world, how do you look so much like us in many ways?”

  “When we came to this world we did not look as we do now. My great-great grandfather was born in his mighty dragon form and it was he and his brethren who claimed this world at the side of our King. All the ancients but a few old seers are lost to us now through battles or subterfuge. My great-grandfather was one of the first to be born of a mana-cursed egg. It was then that we gained this form you see before you now. I Ascended from the Rite performed by a witch of your line. She was the last witch to reside in the temple that stood where Wulfram now squats over two millennia ago.” He paused. “She was murdered shortly after my Ascension. Killed by the same rival Akkadians that decimated my clan in order to prevent my line from continuing in the event that they failed to unseat us. With no witches left to protect, the temple was abandoned, and the sages claimed the cleared lands for their own use.”

  "You will be honored for your sacrifice," Dalaric vowed, continuing on through the confusion that fractured her focus. "I will see to it that you are well-cared for. Others will come forward to beg for your aid. We know what it is you surrender. It is not for my sake that I ask this boon of you, Emersyn. My son will die. Think on him when you consider all that has been told to you. What would you do if you had born a youngling only to know they would die before you, lost in agony and madness?"

  Emersyn bowed her head. She felt tears prick her eyes and blinked rapidly to keep them at bay.

  Dalaric brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek and tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. “I am asking this of you as a father, Emersyn. Not as a warrior nor even as an Akkadian. I will bend my knee to you and beg if you require it of me. This power of mine is nothing to me if I cannot ensure the life of my son. Do not ask me to watch Caelwin die as I did my brother.”

  “I hear you, Lord Dalaric,” Emersyn whispered. “I will not force you to demean yourself. I need time. Please. But know that I will never ask for such lengths from you.”

  Dalaric felt the desire to draw the female into his arms but curled his fist closed instead and stood. “I will return tomorrow. Caelwin is well past the need for the Rite. Mana wine does not help ease him anymore than it did my brother. Though Caelwin took to the training I offered, he is bound to the palace and the village adjacent to it in order to prevent him from losing his way to madness. Caelwin is a youngling no longer and should be able to travel and find his way amongst Akkadian society.”

  Mother's Wisdom

  “Crickets are a sacred sign of forgiveness. They are the souls of the redeemed the Mother has granted a second chance.”

  -Sariah’s Grimoire-

  "What would you do if you had born a youngling only to know they would die before you, lost in agony and madness?"

  Glancing about her at the village women who went about finishing up their tasks before night fell, a few stopping to gossip between the cottages, Emersyn felt the soft ground give way to hard-packed earth once she neared the center of the town market. The thin soles of her short boots would need to be replaced soon, she absently noted. Every sharp-edged pebble bruised the tender soles of her still-recovering feet.

  Lord Dalaric's words echoed over and over in her heart with each step she took.

  With Lord Dalaric’s departure, she had needed time to herself. She had not stopped after passing Jaela and Alvin as they stood just outside as promised. Emersyn had stolen away – allowing herself to become swallowed in the woods while life in the village went on as if nothing had happened to change her world. Jaela had understood, as she usually did, that Emersyn had needed privacy. Now she was returning to face those she loved the best in the world.

  She sighted Jaela and Alvin near the tanning stall. It was close to nightfall, so there were no vendors left to disturb the private conversation the two seemed lost in until Jaela caught sight of her. Alvin turned to see what had Jaela’s attention, and his worried expression did not help Emersyn’s tension. The pair immediately join
ed her.

  Trying to hide her apprehension, Emersyn's lips turned up in greeting as soon as Jaela and Alvin reached her. "Thanks for giving us some privacy."

  Alvin gently inquired, "You are well?"

  She nodded. "He didn't hurt me, if that is what you mean."

  Jaela placed a hand on her arm to draw her attention. "Did you learn anything of value, Emersyn?"

  Glancing down, Emersyn hid her eyes. "I did, but I don't think I'm ready yet to tell you. I wish I could, but I need more time to think." More time to pretend everything was as it had been just a day ago. When she was a failing witch but still had options that did not include pain and bone-crushing revelations.

  Sympathetic, Alvin took one of Emersyn's hands into his. "We understand. Just know that if you need it, we are both here to listen."

  Jaela nodded her agreement to his declaration. "You should seek Sarah. She wishes to speak to you about Bannon."

  "Bannon?" Emersyn asked. Why would Sarah need to speak to her about him? The events of just a day ago seemed so far away.

  Jaela scratched her arm while Alvin looked suspiciously uninterested. Understanding dawned. Bannon must be hunting, and Sarah would tell her that, once more, Emersyn was not welcome in their cottage unless he was not there to know about it.

  Emersyn's eyes watered. She sniffed back tears and blinked at the darkening sky. "I will see her tomorrow. I think I need more time to myself. Just for a little while." She wanted to see Sarah and the baby. Very much so. But she did not want to chance causing an argument between Sarah and Bannon. There had been too much hurt and anger already.