The Redstar Rising Trilogy

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “You must run, Rand Langley of Yarrington,” Wren said.

  Rand stared at the spot where the man’s eyes should have been.

  “I won’t leave you.” Rand reached down, grasping his fallen longsword, and went to charge, but Wren stuck one of his arms out to impede him. The cane shook in his other hand, the preternatural light beginning to flicker.

  “I cannot retain him much longer.” Now he sounded every bit as old and brittle as he appeared. “He’s stronger now than either of us ever imagined.”

  “He’ll kill you.”

  “He’ll kill us all,” Wren said. “Torsten put his faith in you and so did Iam. Prove it was not misplaced.”

  “I… I don’t know what to do,” Rand said, voice quavering.

  Wren’s lips creased into a smile. “I never have. Now go. Perhaps Torsten was wrong in thinking this great act could be completed alone.”

  Rand’s gaze darted between them. Redstar slowly battled the energy expelled from Wren’s light shield and approached the cane. He wore the expression of a wolf crouched above its prey, ravenous and ready to pounce—barely even human.

  “You’ve gone too far now, holy man!” Redstar shouted, crowing like a madman. “My Lady and I will break you!”

  Darkness now filled even the whites of the Arch Warlock’s eyes. Wren’s legs and arms quaked.

  “I won’t fail you,” Rand said. “I’ll find another way.” He bolted for the door. He stepped over the unconscious body of the female warlock, then heard shouting. He glanced the other way and saw a host of Glass soldiers bearing down on him. That was when he realized he was leaving the private chambers of the royal uncle with a bloodstained sword and armor, standing over a body.

  They were coming from further down the corridor, so he took off toward the stairs that would lead back to the bailey. As he skidded around the corner, a Shieldsman was ascending. The knight went for his sword, but Rand leaped over him, slamming into the wall at the next landing. A blade hummed toward his head, but he ducked under it before continuing down the stairs.

  Horns sounded throughout the castle, vibrating in the stone. Some were familiar, belonging to the Shieldsmen. Others had a wild sound to them, and he recalled the terror of Drav Cra longboats lining the docks in South Corner.

  Rand knocked a candelabra down behind him to slow the Shieldsman at his back, then hurried for the Great Hall. He slowed his pace when he reached it, remembering what he was wearing. He sheathed his sword where the blood was most apparent and kept his head down as chaos broke out all around him.

  He had no idea what to do. Wren placed his faith in him again, even after his latest failure, and he’d gotten himself surrounded. He considered making a run for the dungeons to free Torsten, but he’d never make it down now that the castle was swarming—the whole city likely too. An assassination attempt on a member of the royal family, no matter how awful he was, couldn’t go unanswered.

  Dockside was the only place in Yarrington he knew he could hide out and regroup. The poor folk there never talked, proven by how he’d remained there even after deserting the shield. Torsten had found him, but he imagined that more a result of the man’s prowess than anyone ratting.

  Rand veered toward the front gates and picked up his pace. Shieldsmen and Drav Cra flowed in from the bailey in a steady stream, none seeming to notice them. Rand was nearly through the gates when the Shieldsman from the stairs hollered, “Seize him!”

  Rand glanced back and dozens of eyes fell upon him. He didn’t wait around. He sprinted through the great doors into the bailey. Horses were tied up along the wall, and he sliced the rope on one before mounting it. A soldier was already at the castle gates, cranking them closed.

  Rand spurred the horse onward, kicking at its side, driving it to pound its hooves into the dirt. Once the gate sealed, he’d be doomed. Barking sounded as dire wolves raced out from the bailey’s stables and gave chase. Rand’s horse squeezed through the closing gates just in time, barreling through a few guards. The wolves scratched at the wood and howled. Arrows clacked against the snow-covered street behind him from archers on the wall.

  He yanked on the reins and sent the horse toward the busy marketplace. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed a few glass soldiers on horseback. He kicked his horse’s haunches again, but they were going downhill, and the streets were slick with frost. The horse’s front hooves slid apart, and it dipped, launching Rand forward.

  He slammed into the street, and he skidded into a mob, knocking the legs out of many before rolling to his feet. Things had heated up since he left the Square, and guards were busy keeping the tensions between the populace at bay. The din of cursing citizens drowned out the horns from the castle.

  Rand took one quick look up at the men chasing him, then shoved his way through the mob. By the time he was through, he’d lost them and was safely into the back alleys leading down to South Corner and Dockside.

  Wren the Holy had called upon Iam to give Rand a second chance at making things right in Yarrington. The next time he’d be ready, he just had to figure out his next move. One thing was clear after witnessing Redstar’s power firsthand—he couldn’t do it alone.

  XV

  THE MYSTIC

  The moment the darkness around Sora faded, she found herself standing within the circular chamber where Lord Bokeo brought her to meet the Ancient One and who Sora surmised were what remained of the mystics Liam conquered. She slapped her hands against something soft and supple out of reflex. Lord Bokeo took the hits like he deserved them.

  “It is fine, my dear,” he said, grabbing her arms to stop her. “Tell me, what did you see?”

  Sora spun a quick circle, desperate to find Nesilia. At that very moment, she needed more than anything to see her again.

  “Nesilia!” she cried out, but no answer came.

  Lord Bokeo pulled her close, eyes wide like saucers. “You saw the Goddess of Earth? Where?”

  “I was there,” Sora said, eyes still darting around the room as if she’d suddenly appear again. “I was in Elsewhere.”

  “Elsewhere…. You were in Elsewhere?” he said, urgency saturating his words. “What did you see?”

  “I told you.” She pulled herself free. “I must go back. I have to go back. Send me back!”

  “Sora, please. Stop,” he said. “The Ancient One, Aihara Na, would not have sent you to Elsewhere.”

  “There’s no mistaking that feeling, Lord Bokeo. I was there. I heard my friend who is stuck there. I saw Nesilia. It was all so real. I… I know what communing with Elsewhere feels like and I was there.”

  The emptiness she’d been feeling in Whitney’s absence was now magnified by her being with him, even fleetingly in the ethereal realm, and the hole left in the wake of Nesilia. Her presence was intoxicating. Sora had never wanted to be closer to anyone ever, and that brought a sense of guilt. Whitney was trapped in a nightmare with the monster Kazimir, and she let herself be distracted from that awful fact in the presence of Nesilia.

  Sora surveyed the room and the now-empty thrones. “Where are… they?”

  “You were unconscious for some time. They gave me the honor of waiting for your return.”

  “Aquira,” Sora said, suddenly and turned quickly, looking for any signs of the wyvern.

  Lord Bokeo squeezed her shoulder and tried to get her to focus on him. “Breathe, Sora. Do not worry. Aquira is well known to the Council. They are… catching up.”

  Sora shook him off. “Would you just tell me what's going on? Why did she send me there? Why?”

  “The Ancient One sent you nowhere. She merely shows you the truest parts of your soul.”

  Whitney, Sora thought.

  “She gives you insight into what was and what is to come,” he continued. “If you saw the goddess… please, try to have peace. I know this is all very confusing and hard to grasp, but the Ancients—they’ve been expecting you for many years, well before Aquira told them your time had come.”

/>   “But I came here. I chose to be here. I...” Sora finally drew a few deep breaths to calm herself. Enough to look the man in the eyes. “How did they know? I don’t understand anything she told me.”

  “It has been heard on the wind and in the waters. The call of nature beckons forth the heart of the gods.”

  More riddles. If this is what was left of the once mighty Mystic Order Sora had read about, able to move earth and summon storms, they now reminded her more of Redstar. Always talking in circles. But what Lord Bokeo said reminded Sora of something that happened in her vision of Elsewhere.

  “While I was in Elsewhere—”

  “You were not there,” Lord Bokeo interrupted. “You must trust me on this.”

  “Wherever it was then. I heard something—or rather, I said something. It doesn’t make sense to me but, maybe you could?”

  “Tell me,” Lord Bokeo said.

  “Tsu shensughu ywen zhun tahuet feng yaris tsu weyong ywen hou.”

  “How do you—”

  “When I was in Else—there, it was like… I don’t know how to explain it, but I can understand your language. Yi zhu naji mei tong. I guess... I can speak it now too.”

  A smile spread wide across Lord Bokeo’s face. “They were right.”

  “Who was right?” Sora asked.

  “The spirit of the gods,” Lord Bokeo, whispered to himself as he took her by the arm and pulled her down the stone steps, “is found in the one with the will of fire.”

  “I know how it translates but what does it mean?”

  In response, he took her by the arm and said, “Come. It means time is shorter than I’d thought.”

  Lord Bokeo led her back out to the bookstore. It was still light outside, but the sun was well along its descent. Sora pulled back on him at the door to stop them. He’d been in such a rush it caused him to stumble and knock over a few worn books.

  “Lord Bokeo, I’m not going a step further until you give me some answers!” she demanded.

  He promptly released her and tended to the fallen books. She thought she could hear him whispering to them under his breath. When he finished, he glanced up.

  “Please, indulge me just a moment longer,” he said. “I promise the answers will become clear to you. We aren’t going far.”

  She bit her lip, looked back at the dark staircase they’d emerged from, then conceded. I’ve come this far already…

  Lord Bokeo led her outside and rushed through the streets, forcing her to keep up. They dodged Glass soldiers along the way who were finishing clearing Xiahou Boulevard.

  “What is all this?” Sora asked, referring to the barricades stanchioning off the road, fearing it truly was Winde Port all over again.

  “Tonight begins a weeklong celebration called, Gyuan Jie—”

  “Festival of Ghosts,” Sora translated without a second thought.

  “Yes, indeed. It is an ancient celebration of our people—those who have passed on to be with the gods.”

  “And the Glassmen allow this?” she asked, thinking about the defaced statues which now all resembled King Liam.

  “King Liam didn’t, but when he left Panping in the hands of Lord Phillipi Nantby, the Governor welcomed it. They enjoy it as much as we, and it leads into the Dawning, providing extra time for leisure. With as much drinking and carousing as goes on—they care not what reason we give them for partaking.”

  As they continued, Sora saw a building that stood out, wrapped by a porch on all four sides. Upon its gates sat two stone monkeys. Their hands were broken off at the wrists and patched in between them, as if an afterthought, was an Eye of Iam.

  “What is that place?” Sora asked.

  “In the days of the Council, it was a temple to Heragi, God of Misfortune. Now, it is like all of our temples, a Church of Iam.”

  “That is awful,” Sora said.

  “It makes them comfortable, which keeps everyone happy.”

  “It still seems wrong.”

  “The people have taken to the Glassmen’s faith in the name of peace, but we know the other gods are stirring. These are sacred sites of communing with gods. Just because the effigies and the names change, does not mean the power does. It is something the Glassmen could never understand.”

  They walked the rest of the way in silence, climbing marble flights of stairs until they came to a stop at a long, public balcony overlooking the lake where Gold Grin’s ship docked.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lord Bokeo said.

  From so high, the lake looked like a mirror, the setting sun casting a pinkish hue over it. The shadow of the abandoned tower of the defeated Mystic Council stretched long toward an outcrop of rock at the edge of the lake. Sora followed the shadow to the shore where it fell upon another tall structure. She followed the coast, noting several such spires. That was when Sora realized that the mystic tower also served as a massive sundial.

  “Breathtaking,” she marveled.

  “Sora,” Lord Bokeo said, turning to her, “what do you know of the gods?”

  “Which gods?”

  “Our people once worshiped the Many and the Few—Pinyun tsu chahn ji duo. Or simply Pinyun. Now they embrace Iam. Iam is not our enemy, but his followers have created him to be such.”

  “I know little of your gods, only of Iam and a bit about Nesilia. I—my friends and I, ended the life of another whom we were told was a goddess. But I am not so sure. I didn’t think gods could die.”

  “Bliss—the One Who Remained.”

  “Yes!” Sora said, then her eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”

  “Your fame precedes you in many ways. The destruction of the deformed goddess brought confirmation to the now-Secret Council of your preparedness. It was no accident you found Aquira soon after.”

  “That is what the Ancient said, but I still don’t understand.”

  “May I tell you a story of the gods?” Lord Bokeo asked.

  “Will it explain everything?”

  He smiled. “Perhaps everything. Perhaps nothing.” He motioned to a stone bench facing the lake, and they took a seat.

  “Many centuries ago, before the molding of man, before even the forging of the dwarves by Meungor the Sharp Axe, the gods made tabernacle upon this earth,” he began. “Pantego was vast, far vaster than any world in which they’d dwelt before.

  “Upon this very spot, rising above these cliffs stood a majestic mountain, and the gods all called it home. It was rare to find any of them upon it, they were far too busy playing and shaping the world, but it was home nonetheless.

  “One spring morning, when the dew was just so, and the flowers bloomed, bringing with them the fragrance of the eternal planes, the gods were spread widely throughout the land. Our legend tells of the Emperor God—the most powerful of all gods—call him Iam if you’d like, but our people did not. He decided the mountain should reflect the beauty of its inhabitants. So, with his great hand, he scooped up the rock, grass, and all that was within, and carried it far across the western horizon, searching for the place of greatest beauty. When he found a vast ocean and green, fertile land, he left it. Weary from his travels, he rested before making the trek back to the others to share with them the news of his findings.”

  “Mount Lister…” Sora whispered.

  Lord Bokeo nodded “When the gods and goddesses returned,” he continued, “and saw their beloved home was gone, they wept until they were dry and their tears filled the chasm left by the mountain. They created something new and possibly more beautiful even than the mountain. This very lake. But the gods would not be content; they missed their mountain. They cried out to one another, demanding justice be served to their Emperor God. One rose up, higher than the rest. The Goddess of Death and Darkness. You knew her as Bliss.”

  “She, more than any, would not stand the barb at the hand of the Emperor, for she still did not know that what he did was for all their benefits. So, she called together the thousands—gods and lesser gods. Even those who’d lo
ng since abandoned the mountain in hopes of forging their own peoples and lands—Meungor the Sharp Axe, god of dwarves, Bilnor god of the giants, Vilnor, his brother, god of the frost giants, and many more.

  “When they found the Emperor God, he slept peacefully upon his new home. Only he wasn’t alone. For it was only with the help of the Goddess of Earth that he moved the mountain, and she saw his wisdom. Bliss led the charge, even though the Goddess was her sister, carrying with her the full weight of the scorned gods. But none could match the Emperor’s strength, and none would hear his words.”

  “Before long, the gods had forgotten why they battled or who they were angry against. They turned on one another, fury driving them to destroy each other. The violence of gods tore a rift in the fabric of reality, creating Elsewhere and damning them all within. Now they all, the Pinyun, crave to once again return to this land. But we cannot allow it. This is why I know the wise Aihara Na would not have opened up a gateway to Elsewhere. It is too dangerous.”

  It was quiet for some time after he finished and they stared upon the lake. The shadow of the tower stretched so far now in the fading daylight it scraped along the western coast of the city.

  “The tower,” Sora said, breaking the silence. “What is it really?”

  “It was once a place full of life and magic. The Red Tower—the home of the Mystic Order for millennia. Liam, when he outlawed magic, first made the Mystic Council seal it—with magic of all things! Could you imagine? As if that could stop those few mystics who remain. Within lies the knowledge of every mystic ever to walk Pantego, where the Well of Wisdom still bubbles.”

  “Then we should go,” Sora said.

  Aran Bokeo laughed. “Your eagerness may be the end of you, Sora. Tonight is an important night for our people. I would encourage you to clear your mind of all this until the time has come for your training.”