Blood of War (54 page)

Because you need to be strong for what will come and you need to remember who you once were,
came a familiar gravelly voice riding on the breeze and the strengthening light.

He stared at the medal that still dangled from the ribbon entwined in his fingers. The eagle stared back tauntingly, its eyes glinting. The first thought that managed to break through was,
why did he have to show me this? Damn him. Damn him.
Damn
him!

He breathed deeply, tried to quell the rage that beat at him, that battered at his painstakingly erected walls. He needed to focus, to think; he could not let these distractions turn his attention from what was important.

But they did. He stooped jerkily as though he was disjointed and not entirely in command of his muscles. His fingers gripped the ratty page convulsively. Unable to take his eyes from the glowering eagle, he slumped to his knees. In that instant, the sun broke free of its confines and blazed across the world like a heralding trumpet. The sea shimmered and itself turned to blinding light.

“
You are who you are. Embrace that knowledge. Accept it, Jurel, and perhaps you will survive.”

Inside, deep inside, he felt something crack.

“
Harden yourself Jurel. Be who you must be.”

That was what he had done! He had hardened himself! He knew he had to. He knew he must be strong. He was going to get a lot of people killed—he had
already
gotten a lot of people killed!

“
But do not forget who you were.”

The eagle glared at him. The page crinkled in his fingers. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. The crack widened.

“
You are who you are.”

“
But why?” he shouted. “Why does it have to be
me?
”

“
If you don't, then every living thing in the world will be dead by next winter.”

He trembled as though cold. His jaws were clamped so tightly, his teeth hurt.

“
You are who you are.”

In his mind's eye, he saw Daved and Gram once again standing before him in an idyllic little glen. It was so clear he could almost hear the burbling of the brook behind him. His very core shook. The crack changed to an earthquake: new mountains raised, old ones plunged into the sea. The landscape of his soul changing, changed.

“
If you don't, then every living thing in the world will be dead by next winter.”

A low growl emerged from the bottom of his throat and there, there in his mind's eye, behind the implacable yet tender men who were, who had been, his fathers, he saw the light, the one he had striven for so mightily while Metana guided him. It was bright-

“
You are who you are.”

as bright as a star, as the sun and it was

“
Embrace that knowledge.”

getting closer. Closer. So close he could almost...he could

“
-accept it. If you don't-”

feel it. Know it. Understand it. It was him. It was not separate at all. It was him.

“
If you don't, then every living thing in the world will be dead by next winter.”

The growl raised in volume as it went down in pitch. The eagle glared at him but there was something different in the glare. It was not accusing anymore. It was...triumphant.

“
Embrace that knowledge.”

And so he did.

He touched his power consciously for the first time. But it was not as Metana had described, or Kurin or that idiot Andrus, for they described something that was separate from him, like picking up a sword or a hammer and using it as a tool. His power was not like that. His power was
him
. It was a part of him as much as his arms were, as much as his heart was. It was
him.

And he understood.

“
I
am
the God of War,” he growled.

A deep thrill coursed through him, powerful, almost like an orgasm, but where an orgasm was a victory gained in the joining of two bodies, this was a violent, angry, thrilling, euphoric surge as his own body joined, and truly became whole for the first time.

“
I know what I have to do.”

He stood and turned his angry blue eyes to the sea before him, saw the sun hanging violently over the mountains, saw the reflection of the sun sun plunged deep in the sea and he smiled terrible smile full of teeth.

“
I am who I am.”

With a grating sound, the earth beneath his feet trembled and quailed under the force of his will.

“
Yes. You are.”

Jurel whirled. The light was still sunrise dim but the old man who stood a few paces away was bathed in light as though he stood in the noon sun.

“
Father.”

“
Jurel,” Gaorla said with a slight smile. “I see you have managed to discover the truth.” Then his lips twisted wryly. “Took you long enough too. We almost had to beat it into you.”

“
You sent my fathers to me.”

“
Well,” Gaorla hedged. “I wasn't the one to actually accomplish it but it was my idea.”

Jurel nodded.

“
There are some things you need to know, Jurel, and I think now is the time to tell you.”

Jurel glanced doubtfully at the rising sun. “Forgive me please, father, but is this a good time? I need to return to-”

Gaorla chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. “Never fear, Jurel. We have a great deal more time than you might think.” He gestured to three figures who were walking under the trees in the park.

Or at least that's what Jurel imagined they would be doing if any one of them was moving. All of them stood frozen like statues. He gaped at Gaorla.

And again Gaorla chuckled. “We're in a time bubble. We will not be here for long but it gives us a few moments to speak.”

Sitting on a fancifully carved alabaster chair, Gaorla motioned Jurel to a second identical chair.

“
Sit,” bade his Father.

Somewhat perturbed, Jurel sat.

“
So you have discovered the truth at last. You now know the difference between us and the priests. They tap an external power to perform their—what word do they use? Ah yes, arcanum. It is outer, it is like a tool, like picking up a hammer. You understand now that the power you wield is
you
. It is as much a part of you as your heart. It is who you are.

“
There are a few things you must remember before you go running off to your war. You are very young and very new to your power. Like a baby, you lack strength. It will come in time but in the meanwhile, you must not overextend yourself.

“
Consider the priests: they tap into the power,
our
power to be precise, but because it is external there is a finite amount they can draw. Like water flowing through a pipe. It's like a natural failsafe. They can certainly draw enough to harm themselves but it would be difficult to actually die. You on the other hand, are not so fettered. You may draw as much as you like—it is
you
, after all—but that means it is easy to overextend yourself. You already have some idea of what happens. Remember those Soldiers of God who accosted you and Kurin on the road? You were unconscious for three days after. Or after your little escapade in my temple—we're going to have a talk about that some day, young man, but later. Again you fell unconscious for days after. You must grow into your power. That will take time but it will happen.

“
You must also learn to control yourself. Have you noticed that my eyes do not glow? Nor did Valsa's when you met her, or Maora's. Yours do. That is because power leaks from you like a sieve. Again, it will take time but you will learn to use only as much as you need. Until then, you may find that no matter what you try, you will overdo it. Try picking up that stone over there and bringing it to your hand.”

Jurel stared at the stone, about the size of his fist, and willed it to come to him. He felt a surge run through him, exhilarating and terrifying all at once. The pale gray rock rose unsteadily, spinning lazily in the air. Slowly, haltingly, it made its way toward him until, halfway to him, it crumpled like a dry leaf, turned to sand and sifted to the beach.

Jurel gaped as his concentration faltered.

Gaorla chuckled, his eyes twinkling merrily. “You see? Now imagine what would happen if you tried to do something that required more strength than that. You would likely knock down anything around you—trees, buildings, mountains—and then you would fall into a coma. You are weak yet, but you are stronger than you realize.”

Then the ancient rose and like a sudden avalanche, he fixed Jurel with a glare that seemed to encompass all the world. Jurel felt pinned to the spot, barely able to breath under the sudden power the god leveled at him.

“
There is one more thing. You must be wary. You have difficult tasks ahead yet. You have more challenges that must be faced if you are victorious today but one stands above the rest. You have started down a dark and perilous road. Your intentions are good ones, but if you do not pass the next test, you will be destroyed. And if that happens...” Gaorla turned away and gazed across the sea at the blazing bar of yellow-red light at the horizon. More wistfully, with an eternal sadness, he continued, “If that happens, then all,
all
, has been for naught.”

Jurel screwed up his expression. Everything Gaorla said passed through him as water through a net. He shook his head.

“
Father, there is so much I don't understand. Please, can you answer some of my questions?”

Gaorla smiled, his eyes softening, but he shook his head. “No, my son. You must answer your questions for yourself. No one can tell you who you are. Not even me.” He raised a finger to quell Jurel's protest. “Never fear. You do not go unarmed. Remember that Maora gifted you some time back with knowledge. Your mind is, as yet, too untrained to assimilate all he gave you but in time, the pieces of the puzzle will fall into place.”

“
But I don't have time.”

“
You have enough. You can answer—or have already answered—those questions that are most pressing now. The rest can wait for later.” The ancient lips quirked. “Some mysteries will take millenia to unravel.”

“
Why can't you stop this?” Jurel blurted. He surprised himself. He had not known the question lurked, but now it was spoken and now he knew he wanted,
needed,
the answer. “Why can't you tell the Grand Prelate that he's wrong? That this war is stupid?”

Gaorla Himself seemed taken aback by his young son's vehemence. For a moment he was still, silent, his mouth slightly ajar as though he was about to say something. Then he sighed.

“
It is not that easy. We cannot interact directly with mortals. We are...too much for them. Or to put it another way, their view of us is too narrow, too limited by their finite perceptions of the world. When you have leisure, you may wish to ask Kurin. He had some surprising insights some years ago. Perhaps he can help you a little.

“
I tried once to speak directly to mortal kind through a man named Shoka. I spoke but few words to him and I thought my message clear but, with his limited understanding and his human conceptions, he misinterpreted what I said. This, all of what you are now embroiled in, is the outcome of Shoka's misunderstanding. It was not his fault. I should have foreseen the consequences but my thoughts were filled with other matters. Fearing to do more damage, I have refrained from trying again. I've only communicated with one other man, and that one, not directly, but only as he dreamed. He went quite mad.”

“
But I can speak with them.”

“
You were born a mortal of Gram and Wendilla. The seed of what you would become was planted but it was—and still is—but a seed. You are in a unique position; you bridge both worlds: the mortal and the immortal. Right now, you are the only one who can do that.”

Gaorla rose then and sighed. “I am sorry this has fallen on your shoulders, my son. In time you will understand. Perhaps you will even forgive me.”

The world seemed to skew sideways, a jolting sensation that left Jurel somewhat nauseated. His vision blurred as though everything around him seemed to move at incredible speed. He blinked and shook his head. Gaorla was gone.

The breeze, like a breath, brushed at his neck. He glanced up and saw the three people making their way through the trees. One spotted him and pointed. He exchanged hurried words with his friends and the other two stared wide-eyed at him for a moment before all three broke into a run, disappearing into the park. He smirked.

He rose from his alabaster chair and turned to face the dawn. The brilliant sun high above and its twin far below shared triumphant looks with him.

His eyes glowed dull blue as he straightened himself to his full height and took a deep breath of the tangy sea air. His hair seemed to gleam in the magnificent brightness of the twin suns. He looked down at himself, was not in the least bit surprised to find himself encased in armor so black that not even the blazing twin suns could touch it, and traced in an eye-wateringly confusing patterns of golden swirls and whorls that smoldered like molten steel.