The Redstar Rising Trilogy

by Rhett C. Bruno

  Her legs quaked, but she didn’t back down. The bar guai pricked deeper, like it was trying to find its way to her heart. The pain had her screaming, and there was no way the mystics and their servants wouldn’t hear her.

  The rune on the bar guai suddenly burst into pieces, and the blast sent her to her knees. She kept her arms outstretched, and the fire kept flowing. She wasn’t sure how as it seemed that the fire rune was fractured. Once more she felt that familiar pull of Elsewhere. That haunting whisper.

  If she was channeling from within, she wasn’t sure. But she wouldn’t risk it. She accepted the temptation of Elsewhere, keeping one hand raised to continue the blaze and with the other, she drew her knife. Slicing horizontally over her sole scar a few times, she found it no longer hurt her. It was almost pleasurable.

  The fire burned brighter and hotter, turning blue now. Aquira’s claws dug into her shoulder as her wyvern friend released more fire. Sora sliced her other arm to further fuel the blaze.

  Sora could hear Nesilia whispering her name. And not only her, countless voices of Elsewhere mixed and blended, Whitney’s among them. When she heard it, she roared, the act making her throat hurt.

  Sora released one final blast.

  Then there was silence.

  Sora was on her hands and knees panting, blood dripping from her arms, surrounded by smoke. She was so exhausted her head felt like stone, but she fought to lift it. A hole had been burned through the thick door, crackling blue at the edges.

  “We did it,” she rasped, turning to Aquira. The wyvern blinked blearily, took one step, then tumbled off Sora’s shoulder into her waiting hands. She was panting, smoke slipping through her flared nostrils.

  “It’s okay, girl,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.” She cradled her against her chest and crawled through the hole. Her muscles were so exhausted she couldn’t stand even if she wanted to. Her chest still burned hot, and she noticed a stream of blood running between her breasts from the ruptured rune.

  She ignored all the aches and kept crawling. The bubbling pool of blue liquid awaited her, steam rising to meet the stone ceiling. Apart from the preternatural coloring, it was so unassuming, like a natural spring, yet according to her masters contained all the knowledge she could ever want. Sora set Aquira down on the pool’s edge.

  “Sora, no!”

  She glanced back and saw Madam Jaya at the base of the tower stairs. She raised her hand as if to perform a spell, and Sora didn’t wait to find out. She pulled herself into the pool headfirst and plunged. She expected to meet the bottom, but the water seemed to descend as deep as an ocean to the heart of the world.

  She rolled over, waving with her arms to find the surface. The water was warm but not hot, refreshing. Her fresh wounds didn’t sting, but red coalesced with the pristine, blue liquid into beautiful shapes.

  She reached the top and gasped for air, and as she did, a rush of thoughts and feelings poured over her like an enormous wave in the Torrential Sea. Colors, shapes, sounds, light, everything all at once.

  The shapes and colors began materializing into silhouettes and then full images. Trees, hills, mountains, the vast expanse of Pantego splayed out before her. She could see the harsh, cold lands of Brotlebir and Drav Cra. North even of there, she noted the land of Brekliodad from where the upyr Kazimir hailed. The Dragon’s Tail Mountains intersected with the Pikeback like a great T upon the land.

  Her vision shifted down past Glinthaven and south to the Jarein Gorge and the Walled Lake. She saw Yarrington and Troborough, Winde Port and Bridleton. It was all there, lain before her as if she were looking down upon a living map. As her view drifted across to the Panping Region, she saw a massive army gathered at the western walls of Yaolin City as well as a fleet amassed off the southern shores. The flotilla consisted of ships belonging to both the Glass Kingdom and the Black Sands as if they were allies.

  In an instant, she stood amidst the men at the wall, soldiers of the Glass Kingdom. The sounds of them preparing for battle met her ears. Steel sharpening on whetstones, fires crackling while men sang songs of war.

  Sora walked, feeling the grass beneath her feet. She’d had an experience like this before when she met Nesilia, but in that vision, she knew where she was—it was Elsewhere, no question. Now, she wasn’t sure.

  Did she see the past? Were these men huddled just beyond the walls of Yaolin prepared to take it by force?

  Then she wondered if she saw the future, the Fourth Panping War, and the army preparing. She thought to look for Torsten, knowing that if she indeed saw the future, he would be there leading his men.

  That was when the answer to her question came with certainty. From the slit in a grand tent strode a man no one alive would mistake. King Liam the Conqueror, with his sober expression and eyes a hue of hazel much like amber. His hair was black, the color of youth, long before sickness overtook him enough for Whitney to pluck the Glass Crown from his head. She couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was, striking in his bright white and blue armor.

  “Men!” he said. “Glory in the name of Holy Iam awaits! Today we prepare to finish that which my father and his father’s father could not. But with the furthering of His kingdom in mind, we possess something neither of them had.”

  The men outside the tent grunted in agreement. They too wore white, and Sora noticed the one standing next to Liam, helmet tucked under his arm. A sinking feeling like she’d swallowed a rock hit her. Relief only came when her mind relaxed and made the distinction between Redstar posing as Uriah and this man, Uriah Davies, the Wearer of White himself.

  It was uncanny. Redstar had impersonated Uriah so thoroughly, and if not for this version appearing younger, it would have been impossible to tell the difference.

  Liam placed his hand on Uriah’s shoulder.

  “We attempted this peaceably, did we not?” he asked Uriah who nodded. “I hold no distaste for these fine people, but my mandate is clear. If the salvation of the people requires the blood of their masters, then blood shall run this day!”

  Each of the men, who Sora assumed were Liam’s highest generals in the King’s Shield, roared.

  Once they’d settled, he spoke softly. “We occupy and demand the seat of their council. If they attack first, we lay waste to their lands. Spare the women and children unless otherwise necessary. The mystics are tricksters in true form, and they will not hesitate to throw anything they can summon at us. But we are not Drav Cra savages.”

  His men nodded and grunted in agreement.

  “Get some rest,” Liam said. “Uriah, see to it that all preparations are complete. Tomorrow, we march.”

  Liam turned toward his tent, then stopped halfway. He stared up at the wall of the city in the distance where two women stood, their long robes flapping in the wind. They stared back. Sora couldn’t make out who they were, but from their outfits, they appeared to be mystics. One wore the red of the Ancient One, the other yellow.

  As Sora took a step to get a closer look, the world frayed to blackness all around her. Footsteps crashed like a thundering herd of zhulong. She panicked. Soldiers formed up, and she expected to be trampled, only they passed right through her, just as she had the mystics so many times before.

  She spun. Balls of fire painted the sky orange, filling it with smoke. Bolts of lightning slashed the dirt, and massive vines broke through the earth to restrain Glass soldiers, knocking over even the Panpingese in the effort.

  “Forward!” a man shouted. “Iam stands with us!”

  “Torsten!” Sora exclaimed. She ran to him, but he didn’t notice her. He thrust his sword into the air and raised his shield, painted with the Eye of Iam. He wasn’t wearing Shieldsman armor, nor did he wear the white helm, since Uriah was still alive, but he did have on glaruium bracers. He must have been a Shieldsman in training during the siege of Yaolin City.

  Soldiers rallied to him nonetheless and charged. A natural leader.

  They were through the gates, engaging what remain
ed of the Panping army after years of warfare. Another ball of fire came down, this one slamming into Torsten’s shield and knocking him back, but Sir Uriah Davies was there to catch him and continue the charge.

  The Glass army was massive, and Sora could see the fear in the Panpingese even as their mystic leaders flung spells of destruction at their enemies. There were Shieldsmen, dwarven and Shesaitju mercenaries, and others, Glintish men and women, skin like Torsten’s, and even those from Brekliodad. Everything it took for Liam the Conqueror to vanquish these people of, what he considered, false gods.

  Sora ducked out of reflex as Torsten swung at an enemy right over her head. That was when she noticed priests of Iam walking with them into the fray, somehow summoning shields of light to dispel mystic spells as they strolled forward, blind and clutching Eyes of Iam.

  “Retreat!” the Panpingese yelled in their language. Their men looked overwhelmed with terror. They turned to flee down the streets of Yaolin when walking toward them came a mystic. They halted at the sight of her. Sora searched through them and felt her heart leap into her throat. It was Aihara Na, flanked on either side by Madam Jaya and Huyshi, but she wasn’t wearing red. Another legion of Panpingese soldiers stood behind her. Unlike Liam, Aihara Na didn’t look a day younger. The only difference was that her stare wasn’t so distant and hollow.

  “Stand your ground cowards, or feel our wrath instead,” Aihara Na said. She didn’t shout, but her words carried on the air with authority. The men stopped, frightened as if trapped between two enemies, invaders and their beloved masters.

  Aihara Na and the other mystics joined hands and began a chant. Sora saw the Red Tower standing tall over the rooftops behind them. The ground shook, then a tremendous wave rushed down the street. The water split around the mystics and the army behind them but washed through their own people on route to pushing the Glass army back.

  Torsten reached out, and Sora tried to grab his hand before the water carried him away in its strong current. She wasn’t moved by it. When the water settled, men of both armies littered the streets, disoriented.

  “Kill the Glassmen,” Aihara Na ordered to the legion behind her. “Kill them all.”

  The Panpingese soldiers stared at their people stuck between them and the Glass army, gagging on water, some with their bodies crushed against buildings. They didn’t charge.

  “Why are we fighting for them?” one at the front said.

  “King Liam said any who stood against the mystics would receive mercy,” spoke another.

  “You think he will show you mercy?” Aihara Na spat. “The liar will slaughter every single one of you. The streets will run red with your blood.”

  “They already do!”

  “Insolent fool!” Aihara Na swung her hand, and the man flew across the street. His back snapped against a column. “This is our city. Defend it, or die!”

  One of the Panpingese soldiers glared at her, then tossed his curved blade aside. A few more did the same, until Aihara Na and the other mystics weren’t facing the recovering Glass army, but their own people.

  “You fools!” she roared. A storm brewed overhead, lower than any storm cloud should naturally be. “Can you not see who the true enemy is?”

  “They see, as I do,” a deep, basso voice shouted from the gates. King Liam strode in, carrying a sword at his side.

  “You!” Aihara Na bellowed. She marched forward, magically pushing all her remaining soldiers out of the way.

  “Your people no longer wish to be tools for your profane tests,” Liam said. Sir Uriah had recovered from the flood and tried to stop him, but King Liam gestured for him to step aside and unlike Aihara’s men, he did so without a fuss. “They no longer wish to suffer as you strive to conquer death.”

  “And how many of them have died in your quest to rule this world?”

  “I gave them the choice to bend the knee,” he said solemnly, “to see Iam as their one true savior. It is your kind that denies them peace.”

  “There can be no peace with the likes of you!” She raised her arms, and a bolt of lightning shot out of the clouds above toward Liam.

  “My Lord, no!” Torsten scrambled to his feet and leaped in front of it, but the coruscating stream of light froze right in front of his chest. Torsten hit the ground, clutching his necklace, staring as the bolt vacillated, making the air crackle with energy.

  “Enough,” spoke a soft voice that, like Aihara Na’s, carried. Another Mystic walked out onto the street, more beautiful than any mortal woman Sora had ever seen. She wore the red of the Ancient One, and she stepped in front of Aihara.

  “Long have I stood by while we fought back, but for what?” she said.

  “Ancient One Sumati, I—” Aihara started, but was cut off by the newcomer.

  “No, it is time you listen. I am the eldest on the council, and I will not see any more death. Today, we show them that Iam is with us as well. Perhaps they see no others, but perhaps we see too many.”

  The woman spun to face King Liam and the Glass soldiers. Sora swore there was something familiar about her, but she wasn’t sure what. She was the Ancient One of the time, which meant that she had to be hundreds of years old, but she didn’t look a day older than Sora.

  Ancient One Sumati fell to her knees and bowed her head. “Let this fighting come to an end, King Liam. Do what you will with us.” She gestured back to the Panpingese soldiers. “But spare them.”

  Liam didn’t answer. He merely stared across the smoldering battlefield and into the ageless eyes of the elder mystic. After a few seconds, a smile touched the corner of his lips. What happened next, Sora couldn’t see. Again, the world frayed at the edges, and before she knew it, she stood in a dark, candlelit room. An arrowslit window revealed that they were high up in the Red Tower.

  Ancient One Sumati lay on a bed wearing nothing but a nightgown, no longer the mystic warrior on the battlefield. Sora considered shielding her eyes, believing she was about to see something meant to be private. She heard screaming, but not pleasurable ones. The woman’s swollen belly rose and fell in sharp intervals.

  Two others were in the room in addition to the laboring, soon-to-be-mother. Liam Nothhelm sat at the bedside, holding the Ancient One’s hand. A handmaiden kneeled by her feet preparing to deliver the child.

  Something wasn’t right. Sora had seen births in Troborough before, but the mystic seemed to be in even more pain. Sweat drenched every part of her, and the sheets beneath her legs were soaked with blood.

  “What's taking so long?” Liam demanded.

  “I… she doesn’t seem to be able to push. Your Grace,” the handmaiden replied.

  “Is it blocked?” Sumati grated.

  “It doesn’t seem…”

  “I’m afraid the child will never see the light of this world,” Aihara Na said, entering. “Its heart is too weak for this realm. It will not survive the stress and should be dead already.”

  “What are you talking about, witch?” Liam asked.

  “She hasn’t told you? Your child should have been stillborn, but Ancient One Sumati has drawn on all her power to keep her breathing.”

  Liam squeezed the Ancient One’s hand. “What is she talking about?” The woman struggled to speak, and Liam yelled. “Answer me!” Then softer, “Please?”

  “Never has a mystic been so skilled in the art of healing, but this is beyond her,” Aihara Na said. “Elsewhere desires the soul it was meant to have, and it will not be denied. Even our power has its limits.”

  “Aihara,” Ancient One Sumati wheezed. “I can’t… I can’t hold on much longer. You must save the child.”

  “You are asking me to do something against all that we believe,” Aihara said.

  “Please…” Ancient One Sumati said.

  “What is this?” Liam hovered over the Ancient One’s face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She stroked his cheek, her hand trembling. “I couldn’t bear to see you unhappy.”

  Liam took
her hand in both of his. He now shook as well. “This is impossible. Iam spoke to me. He told me that this union was destined.”

  “Perhaps your savage Queen cursed it,” Aihara Na said. “Her people are known for that.”

  “Do not speak of her!” Liam snapped.

  “Aihara, please... save our child,” Ancient One Sumati moaned, sweat pouring off her forehead, matting her long black hair. “I know we’ve had our differences, but you must save her.”

  “And risk splitting the veil?” Aihara Na said. “You know what it requires.”

  “I can hold Elsewhere at bay. Why else live so long as I have?” She chuckled weakly, then coughed.

  “No, Madam. Perhaps you could have, but it is too dangerous now. If you were not in so fragile a state, you would see that.”

  “You can save her?” Liam asked, standing.

  “Only one of them. The mother, or the child. But it is too—”

  “I am your new King,” Liam stated.

  “And as our new King, you’ve made it very clear that our magic is outlawed. An act of this magnitude has consequences.”

  “I know what your people are capable of. You will use any power at your disposal to save them both, is that clear? Queen Oleander has yet to bear me a child. I will not lose my first.”

  Ancient One Sumati grabbed Liam’s hand, groaning in pain from the simple act. Blood had thoroughly saturated the bed by now. “It’s okay, Liam,” she said. “I’ve lived a good, long life, rose to the top of the Mystic Order, saw this awful thing called war end peaceably,” she paused and stroked his hand, “by finding the peace in you.” She rubbed her stomach. “Our child deserves the same chance.”

  Liam bit his lip. His eyes welled, but he did not weep. A man like him couldn’t afford to show weakness, even in a time like this. He leaned over and placed a gentle kiss upon her cheek, then he turned to Aihara Na, his glower hard as glaruium.

  “I am your King. I do not ask,” he said. “Do what must be done to save the child.”

  “Ancient One, please,” Aihara Na pled. Sora didn’t think the woman capable of looking so terrified.