Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood (4 page)

Her forehead furrowed even more. She expected him to say she knew the answer to her own question. The ensuing silence as they resumed their walk confirmed her suspicion. She followed, this time a step behind, face flushed like a scolded schoolgirl back when she first met the tall, waif of a man whose youthful effervescence belied his stature. Mind working furiously, she bit her lip, pondering why she’d been given the particular test of facing her most hated enemy and having to choose between assisting him or driving her sword through his back when given the opportunity.

A sudden smile bloomed across her face. “Control. Everything it means to be any type of Matii hinges on emotional control.”

High Shin Jerem grunted.

“They risked my life … no … you risked my life to see if I could control myself? You gave me the chance to relieve myself of all the daemons haunting my dreams only to snatch it away from me?” This time, she was the one who stopped and stared at the High Shin.

“I never deprived you of anything.” He kept on walking. “You accomplished that yourself.”

Irmina’s hand clenched against her side. Remembering her words from a moment ago, she sought the deep place within her mind where she walled herself away from her emotions while they flitted outside. The Eye brought her comfort, but her rage still existed, buzzing like a nattering fly beyond its surface. With an exaggerated breath, she stalked after Jerem.

She caught up with him as he turned down another hall past several columns. Guards stood at attention, tasseled lances held before them. On the breast of every surcoat shone an emblem of the sun with three lightning bolts striking in front of it. The Lightstorm insignia appeared brighter against their silver armor. Unlike the main thoroughfare, no windows lined this hall that led deeper into the Iluminus. No one traveling down this walkway wore the colors of students and apprentices or even the paler red with gold sleeves of Ashishin. The few people walking this way displayed the bright crimson, silver, gold, and stripes of High Ashishin.

“Good for you to maintain control even now,” Jerem finally said. “You will need it.”

Another test. She almost groaned.

Similar to the walls along other corridors, the ones here shone, imbued with light essences that kept the Iluminus in perpetual brilliance and chased away any possibility of a shadow. Even the floor and ceiling glowed. Tapestries and paintings lined the walls, displaying various battles. Some were actual recounts, others, stuff of legend.

A series of paintings depicted the Tribunal’s history, dating back several millennia. They showed the first among the Exalted: Trucida Adler, Jenoah Amalie, Sol Remus, Damal Adelfried, and others. Men and women all said to be related to the Eztezians—the direct descendants of the gods themselves given the task to protect the world. Damal, in particular, was displayed larger than life, a giant to rival Ryne’s size, if not larger. The man reminded her of the brief glimpse she’d gotten of some sort of spiritual presence back when Ryne defeated Voliny.

The same drawing showed them bowing before a form wreathed in light—a representation of Ilumni—as they received the Principles governing the elements of Mater and the Tenets for each individual essence. The script beneath said Ilumni also handed them the ideas behind the foundation of Streamean worship: the triple unity. The coming together of the gods, the three religions, and of man.

The writing continued to wax poetic about justice, social understanding, the belief in nonviolence, and compulsory education. Above all, it stressed the founding ideals of the harmonies of life. Do good and so would fortune shine on a person. Do evil and reap the rewards of darkness.

The last tapestry showed the creation of the gods themselves by the Annendin—the One God. He was a void, nothingness, black, and foreboding. Below the tapestry, written on the actual walls, were the Tenets and Principles of Mater.

Irmina pressed her lips into a tight line. Moments ago, Jerem mentioned how the concepts of good or evil were a matter of interpretation mired in a convoluted middle ground. How literally did a person take ‘reaping the rewards of darkness’ anyway? From experience, enough believed those rewards worth the sacrifice.

The High Shin clearing his throat broke her from her thoughts.
“Be careful however you answer them. They will try to lead you.”

Irmina nodded. For the first time, images of whom or what she thought the Exalted looked like flashed through her mind. She had never met them before, but rumors abounded during her training all the way to her promotion from Pupa to Ashishin and her subsequent application to become a Raijin. For any Matus to rise above the rank of Ashishin they needed to visit the Exalted. As the Tribunal’s rulers, they reserved final say on any ascension after an interview. Some of those rumors said on occasion, a Matus presented before them did not return from the chambers and were not heard from or seen again. The thought made her shiver.

Her meeting today was two-fold. One was her interview to advance to Raijin, and completing whatever additional test they required of her within the confines of their quarters. The other was to be questioned about Ryne. Somehow, despite all Jerem’s precautions, the Exalted had discovered her original mission. Their summons left no room for maneuvering. Although she was certain their stance on the part she played in Castere would be a reflection of the Tribunal Assembly, that did not worry her as much as if they knew she kept Ryne’s identity a secret.

She drew in a slow breath, taking in the cleanliness of the halls and the perfumed scents from incense set into small braziers near the walls. “Should I lie?”

Jerem raised his brow again, this time sweeping a thin wisp of matching hair from across his other eye. “Even if I wanted you to, you do not possess the necessary skill for such an endeavor. They would see right through you.”

“So what shall I tell them?”

“All you know about Ryne. Answer their questions truthfully.”

“Won’t that implicate you—” she cut off her whisper as another High Shin, at least eight multicolored stripes adorning his silver sleeves, strode by. The man bowed slightly to Jerem, whose own robes bore several more stripes than his counterpart’s.

“Take a moment to think about exactly what you know.”

Irmina mulled over the events in her head, starting with Jerem training her to become an Ashishin assassin, to her discovery of the Dorns being responsible for her parents’ deaths. She considered the task Jerem set her before she could seek revenge, which led to Ryne and his companion, Sakari. She breathed deep as she remembered Sakari’s color-shifting eyes and his ability to use a skill similar to her beast-taming to delve into her mind. Not to mention the black creature with its many tentacles he’d transformed into when she killed him.

She dredged up every tidbit she could, including Taeria’s revelations and the knowledge imparted by Herald Bodo. Not even her discovery of Setian living on this side of the Vallum of Light revealed much about Jerem, although it did shed light on Ryne’s history.

In the final battle in Castere, Voliny revealed Ryne’s many incarnations. Lives of legends and myths. He himself was Nerian the Shadowbearer, the Setian king and a leader among the shade—the one who had issued the commands that began the demise of much of Ostania and her family.

She squeezed her eyes tight at the thought. With the chance before her, instead of killing Ryne, she’d destroyed Sakari. An act she still did not fully comprehend.

Why kill Sakari?
The thought still haunted her as did the man’s eyes and his ability to heal almost any wound as well as his armor itself. She blamed the strange affinity she felt to Ryne at the end with the sudden appearance of swaths of Mater pouring through the air.

In all this, what did she really know of Jerem’s own plans? Hardly anything.

However, she did know what she would not tell them. Whatever it took, she would drive the pinprick from her mind that she’d felt ever since that night in Castere. It pulled her in Eldanhill’s direction. She found the idea scary enough without thinking about the Exalted.

She didn’t realize Jerem stopped until she bumped into his back. Before them was a huge door, the Lightstorm insignia emblazoned across its surface. To either side, Dagodin soldiers stood at attention, their gazes seeing nothing and everything.

“Ready?” Jerem asked.

“Yes,” she replied, hoping her voice sounded stronger than her knees felt.

The door slowly swung inward.

Chapter 5

B
ehind Ancel, Charra’s grunting barks and growls changed to roars. Wolves howled.

Dear Ilumni, keep them safe,
he prayed in earnest. He steeled his back and shoulders. The dizziness he expected swept through him for a moment before it subsided.

As always, he had no explanation for the phenomenon. He wondered if it was a part of his new power or had anything to do with the strange dreams he had trouble remembering at times. The ones he did recall were so vivid he thought he could touch the black leaves in the even blacker forests and feel the power rippling through Jenoah’s streets and spires during the distant battle that occupied his fantasy. Recently, those dreams had increased in frequency.

Charra’s roars broke him from his reverie. The wolves answered. A grim reminder of what his father and Kachien were fighting.

Ancel pushed the images from his mind and concentrated on the route ahead. No real path showed through the snow and ice-laden brush, and he adjusted several times to skirt a tree. When a stray branch snagged at his legs, cloak, or hitched onto the litter, he swore some god or daemon was conspiring against him. On several occasions, he hacked away such an offending limb. If not for the fact winter’s grip squeezed the land and much of the brush had lost its foliage, the progress through the woods may have been nigh impossible. As it stood, branches snapped off, some requiring more effort, but they broke all the same. Pulled by the force of his Da’s horse, the litter helped clear a path more than it hindered.

The trip reminded him of earlier that summer when shadelings chased him and Mirza. The memory brought a fresh surge of fear. He found himself peering into the darker patches of the woods, jumping at shadows. At any moment, he expected shadelings to leap from the forest’s recesses. Either wraithwolves, green eyes glowing, their fur blackened char, as they ran first on two legs like a man before dropping on all fours to leap and bound; or darkwraiths, their man-like forms more gray smoke than solid flesh. No such beasts revealed themselves. He mouthed a silent prayer to Ilumni.

Despite his faith and the clearer spaces around him, he remained unconvinced of his relative safety. Shadelings hadn’t been spotted in more than two months now. He’d hunted down several to appease his anger, need for revenge, and to prove himself. When those outlets expired, he turned to hunting the regular wolves.
Suppose there was some stray shadeling everyone missed?
Finding the Eye, he worked the thought from his mind.

Within the Eye, he took in all around him. Auras bloomed in the form of colors across any living thing. The insects, the birds, small cretins foraging among the undergrowth, even the trees. It was like looking at the world through a rainbow. Over time, he’d learned each color represented the essences that existed within everything. They also gave him a hint of intention. From what he saw, nothing threatening existed within his surroundings.

Late afternoon was dragging on into evening and the cold day becoming colder. Seen through the cover of oak and cedar, white and gray saturated the sky like dirty milk. Heralds of a snowstorm. Snowflakes trickled through such openings to land on his cloak and leather-armored arms, dissolving before they accumulated. The white of frosted leaves and branches, and in some places icicles from frozen water runoff, sprinkled the area. Ancel crunched a passage through, breaking the stillness around him. He shushed the horse to calm whenever a wolf howled.

More confident than before, he weaved his way through, gaze focused ahead so as not to allow the fear of pursuit to overwhelm him. The cold became a needle pricking in his gut and tingling his toes, heightening the sense of urgency within him. He goaded the horse on.

Gray and white flashed across his periphery. He tracked the movement, the beast tearing through undergrowth to reach him. A breath whooshed out of him when he realized it was Charra.

The daggerpaw needed no commands. Charra bounded ahead, crashing through any obstacles in the way that wasn’t a tree. His bone hackles lopped off saplings as if a blademaster hewed a path.

Ancel urged more speed from the horse. With Charra clearing the way, their speed doubled, and he resorted to jogging to keep up. He flirted with the idea of mounting, but the position of the ropes around the shoulders and down the saddle appeared to be a pain his balls could do without.

The next hour dragged by with the horse laboring, steam rising from its mouth as it snorted and flicked its head to one side. Ancel slowed their progress, giving the animal time to rest. He removed the waterskin from the saddle and finally stopped. Chest heaving in deep breaths, the horse bowed its head as Ancel let the water run into his cupped hand below its mouth. The mount slurped greedily at the liquid.

Deep indentations marked where the ropes had pressed against the horse’s shoulders. Sweat coated its brown hair. Stefan’s mount was used to frolicking or going on short runs not this sort of physical labor.

Ancel strode around to the litter to inspect the giant. His chest still moved at the same steady rate. The arrow wound no longer bled, but Ancel still worried. The man’s skin, where not covered by the Etchings, had grown more discolored, more frostbitten to where his lips were a ruinous black.

Whatever was happening, they needed to reach Eldanhill and Galiana Calestis as soon as possible. Ancel hurried back to the horse and set it moving again. The litter edged forward, and soon they were travelling at a steady pace. Ancel tugged on the reins for a little more speed.

The trip stretched on. He no longer heard the noise of the wolves behind him. Birds twittered and flitted from branch to branch. A rabbit hopped near their path before stopping to give them a curious glance then bounding away in a blur. The cold seeped in deeper and the snowfall increased, quickly accumulating on his cloak. He hunkered down within the folds of the garment.

The crunches of following feet sounded nearby.

One quick step drew him even with his father’s saddle. He removed his bow from where it hung and turned to face the noise. His hand went up to his quiver, and he nocked an arrow without thought and aimed toward the footsteps. Swirls of snow and an oak tree obscured his vision.

When the first form jogged from behind the tree, tension eased from Ancel’s shoulder and arms, and he brought his hand from the arrow’s feathery fletching. The shape resolved into his father in his sleeveless, hooded fur jacket. Kachien appeared soon after, moving with a slight limp. Ancel drew fletching to ear again at what followed behind them.

Several wolves, heads low to the ground, slunk back and forth across the path he’d carved through the forest. He counted at least six or seven. More were sure to be close by, out of sight, possibly flanking them. Sure enough, he picked out flashes of gray among the trees farther to their east and west. The animals intended to cut them off.

“Pass me your quiver,” Stefan wheezed as he reached him. Blood decorated his fur and leather armor.

Ancel slung the strap from across his shoulder and back and passed it to his father. By this time, Kachien arrived, her limp a little more pronounced. Her clothing displayed several rents, exposing tanned flesh. Blood trickled from paw scratches in those areas. The holes from bite marks on her thigh were plain to see. She shivered profusely. Ancel removed his cloak and fur and threw it over the diminutive woman’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said between clenched teeth, fixing her golden hair over the fur.

“We only managed to escape because one of the packs decided to make a territory challenge,” Stefan nodded to where more gray forms slunk through the distant trees to the east.

“How much time do we have before the fight’s decided?” Ancel asked.

“Not much. These fellows appear just to be tracking us until then.”

“It makes no difference now,” Kachien said, her voice strained. “Look.”

Ancel glanced to where she nodded. The end of the Greenleaf Forest was in sight. Beyond were five-foot stone pillars—supports for an unfinished fence or wall of some type—stretching for several thousand feet. Unless the wolves intended to attack them on open pastures, they were safe. Even if the animals did attack, the group would be well within sight from Eldanhill’s towers. Help would be forthcoming.

The mumble of a deep voice made Ancel look back toward the litter.

Discolored face and all, the giant propped himself up on one arm. His emerald gaze took them in. Something flickered behind his eyes when they passed over Stefan, and he muttered, “Y-you … dead …” Then he focused on Kachien, features hardening, the recognition unmistakable. He lifted his sword and pointed at her. “A-And you—” He collapsed in a boneless heap onto the wood, his eyes fluttering shut.

Ancel gave them both an incredulous stare. “Do you know him?”

His father shook his head.

“Yes and no,” Kachien said.

Ancel frowned.

“Remember I told you I had a task to protect a boy and watch a man in Carnas?”

Thinking back to that time in the Randane’s sewers, Ancel nodded.

“He is that man.”