Dire Sparks (Song of the Aura, Book Five) (7 page)

There was a rushing in her ears, and a shuddering beneath her feet that swept her off balance, flinging her to the ground and plunging the world into darkness. A long, warbling screech stabbed through the void, rose, peaked, faded, and died away completely. Elia felt bruised and broken, but she tentatively got to her feet and summoned a flame.

The Cjathrier lay in its death throes, impaled through the skull by an enormous spike of frozen blood. Her Striding had worked, after all… and it had molded most of the pool’s blood into the weapon pictured in her mind the second before the beast attacked her. Behind its corpse lay the shattered lower portion of the cavern wall, with a scattered rubble of bones and blood all about.

That didn’t make sense, did it? Bones behind a wall?

Elia stumbled wearily around the Cjathrier’s corpse, careful to keep her flame alight. All of a sudden, she noticed that there was some second source of light from beyond the body. Her pace increased, and as she tramped through the carnage behind the monster, she saw with elation that there was a huge stone door, thrown open by its writhing. A red light spilled in from beyond… foreboding, but at the moment the most glorious thing she had ever seen!

She stumbled through the doorway, past the second chamber where the bones had been stored, and through an open arch into the hot red light of a dying sun. She was in a courtyard, with a tall black cliff at her back, and smooth pavement beneath her bloody feet.

And… she was no longer alone.

The courtyard was hundreds of feet wide, set in stone hundreds of feet high. There were tall pillars ringing the space, and the cliffs were punctured with innumerable alcoves bearing grotesque stone statues. Gramling had told her of this, in his whispers: she was in the heart of the Golden Sepulcher. That she had made it here, and so quickly, meant… meant that she would be accepted to train as a Pit Strider.

But that was not what took her breath away. It was the
people
.

At least twenty other figures were stumbling out from the shadows of the titanic pillars. Some were so far away across the space that she could barely make them out, but most were closer and one, a girl, was not more than a few hundred paces to her right. Each of them had skin as black as coal, which, coupled with their black hair and black clothes, made them look like shadows given flesh.

Then the girl nearby turned to glance at Elia, and she saw the raw, human fear in the girl’s eyes that she knew must be mirrored in her own. Whatever- no,
whoever
- these people were, they were in the same position as she.

Then it hit her: Striders. She was to be trained as part of a group, with those directly under Sheolus’s sway. Well, there was not much she could do about that. Elia tried to nod assuredly at the coal-skinned girl, who looked just as young as she, and began to make her way hesitantly to the middle of the square.

When she had crossed the distance, most of the other trainees had gathered there. Each seemed to be ignoring the others as they silently formed a circle in the center of the Sepulcher courtyard. To her surprise, Elia saw that they were of all ages and sizes, and that there were just as many women as men… and that at least some were not black-skinned at all, but had flesh of a deep blue hue, like the legendary Rain Nymphs in Southern Vast.

Most were bloodied, and all looked tired; though, Elia noted with apprehension, none looked so badly off as herself, even the young girl beside her. Any further thoughts were abruptly cut off, however, as a jet of violet flame suddenly sprung up at the center of the circled, replaced the next moment by an ever-climbing pillar of inky black smoke that soared into the sky with unnatural speed.

WELCOME.

It was a Voice Elia had heard before, speaking into her mind as well as her ears, just as it was now. She could not repress a shudder; but, luckily, it seemed the rest of the gathered trainees were even more shaken. With every word the Voice spoke, many-colored flames flashed from within the unending pillar of smoke.

YOU HAVE BEEN DRAWN HERE BY ME, MY CHILDREN. I DO NOT MAKE MISTAKES.

WHERE BEFORE YOU WERE BROKEN, HERE YOU SHALL BE REFORGED.

WHERE BEFORE YOU WERE WEAK, HERE YOU WILL BE MADE INVICIBLE.

WHERE BEFORE YOU SERVED CHAOS, HERE YOU WILL SERVE MY ULTIMATE ORDER.

WELCOME, ACOLYTES. WELCOME TO MY GOLDEN SEPULCHER, AND THE MOUNTAIN OF YOUR DEITY.
Then the pillar of smoke retracted into the ground with a shuddering
whoosh
, climaxing with one last, sparkling flame that spurted and died.

This is sick,
Elia groaned inside. But there was nothing to do. All of the acolytes looked shell-shocked, and it was far too late for any kind of resistance. She would have to play along, and hope for the best.

Clink.
She turned her head slightly at the sound, and saw a ring of black-robed figures approaching from all sides. They had long, white nails or claws that protruded from their sleeves, and their robes, though voluminous, weren’t moved even an inch by the wind.

Click.
The robed ones raised their claws, and the red light of the sun seemed to flash brighter above them.

WELCOME.

Elia’s head hurt. She felt so tired…

…
Everything went black.

True sunlight rarely shone on the Golden Nation. Scarlet auroras, summoned by the Golden One’s divine power, lit the slate-gray clouds for most of the day… though Gramling was beginning to wonder if it were really “power” at all, and not rather some simple quirk of the weather that Sheolus had turned to his advantage.

No. Not Sheolus. The Golden One. It was not permitted to speak the cursed name. Gramling was angry at his slip, and afraid his Master could hear the rebellious thought. He never used to be this way… it was that Elia.
She
caused him to think too much;
she
was the one who had shaken his faith.

And now, when he should have been training his body and mind for the struggles ahead, when the Second Surge sailed for Vast to end its resistance forever… he was just watching her. Watching her eat, watching her train, watching her make her first attempts at communicating with the Kinn, the Pit-Children, who trained with her.

His missions into Vast had been wrought with tenseness. He had been behind the lines of the enemy, and it had been kill-or-be-killed. But here, in his own home… it was different. For the first time he could safely observe someone from his homeland, if not his home race. There was more to the attraction, he knew… but that was not something to dwell on.

What secrets do you hold, Elia?
He found himself wondering about her even when she wasn’t around.
You’re supposed to unite the nymphs, you said… but how can you still hope to do that, even here? What drives you? What… Who ARE you?
His thoughts were too jumbled, as they so often were when… Oh, blast it all.

At the moment, Elia was probably in one of the Sepulcher’s war-rooms, training in physical combat as she had for the last week. She was tough, that one… more than she looked, especially considering the things he had put her through in her first days imprisoned. Well, it was time to see just how well she had recovered. Gramling had watched her long enough. The Golden One had given him no new missions, yet. It was time for a test.

Even as Gramling made his decision, he was distracted by the sound of approaching feet. He was lounging in an alcove, just above a tall, thin window that opened out from a wide stone hallway high up in one of the Sepulcher’s spires. From his vantage point in the shadows, he could easily see anyone entering either end of the hallway. They wouldn’t see him, though, not among all the other twisted, formless meanderings of decorative stone. He decided to stay where he was, at least for the moment: it was an unspoken code of Agrivor Pit Striders such as himself to never be seen in action. Better, then, to wait and watch.

In a few moments, the sounds of feet grew louder and faster. Suddenly a small troop of black-skinned Kinn raced around the corner, slowing for a moment in the surprising brilliance of the red light, then continuing on past him. They all wore the form-fitting grey clothes of Acolytes, except for the burly trainer with his shaved head, and a thin girl with the blue fringe marking her as a Transyte. Gram perked up- besides himself, he had not known there were any Transytes from the Golden Nation…

…
No! It was
Elia
. Sometime since he had last seen her, her hair had been dyed black, and she had been raised from Acolyte to a Transyte: a Pit Strider who could also stride one of the physical elements. Blue for Sea, Green for Stone, and White for Sky. Most interesting… she was progressing far more rapidly than the Golden One himself had predicted. Even now, so soon after her ordeal, she looked to have become stronger than all the days he had hunted her companions in Vast.

She looked… beautiful. Gramling leered as she passed, breaking his gaze only to leap down from the window-alcove just as the column of Acolytes vanished around a corner at the far end of the hallway. He paused, basking in the blood-hued light of the auroras outside, then swiftly followed the way the others had went.

His own training, under the personal tutelage of the Golden One, was far superior to the training Elia would get under the Institution. He had no problem stalking the Acolytes as they ran from war-room to war-room. They were always kept running- it gave less time for thought. He followed them to the Ring, where they would gather for staff duels, then peeled off into deeper shadows to gather what he needed from the gear closets. A plan was already forming in his head.

~

Elia wrapped dark fabric around her hands and upper arms, gritting her teeth and ignoring the bruises she’d accumulated everywhere from the harsh past week. The black cloth would serve as cushioning, as well as make her harder to see in the dark. The Ring was always dark, and her pale skin always stood out when uncovered. The Acolyte suit showed too much, and clung too tightly, in her opinion… but it might give her an edge if fighting a male today, so why disguise the fact?

You’re thinking like them too much,
her conscience told her, but she pushed it down.
I have to, or I’ll never survive.
Gramling had all but abandoned her this past week, and it was hard enough to keep her head above the water without such scruples. Survival: that was all that mattered. But she wrapped herself some anyway… all the Acolytes did. It was a small sign of fashion, almost.

The wrappings complete, she tied back her newly dyed hair with the last bit of cloth. Black. Why was everything black, if this was the Golden Nation? Come to think of it, Gramling’s hair had been black the first time they had clashed, what seemed like ages ago. In Vast, it would set them apart: here, it was one step closer to conformity.

As was viciousness. She picked the most wicked staff she could find- a twisted, blackwood stave with thorny knobs at both ends- and then left the gear closets behind to enter the Ring. As she stepped through the door, she thought she saw a flicker of movement behind her… but when she looked again, there was nothing.

I’m going to go insane, here…
she thought wearily. Then she hardened her will, and stepped into the Ring.

This was a large, circular war-room; one of the largest in the Sepulcher. It was dimly lit, like every other, but unlike most it had a domed roof with a sky-light of molded violet glass. The effect was beyond eerie, as the red lights from the sky shone through in varying strengths throughout the day, casting twisted and discolored shapes of light and shadow all over the Ring from above. There were balconies higher up in the wall, but the dim light did not reach them and they were shrouded in shadow, creating the illusion that the combatants in the Ring were entirely alone.

It was ominous in a way Elia had never encountered… but she was determined to beat it, no matter the cost.

As she stepped out into the round space, the metal portcullis that had let her into the gear closet slammed shut behind her, moved by some unseen force. She shuddered inside at the sound, but kept her shoulders square and her face as emotionless as possible. Weakness killed, here.

For a moment, even the dull light of the Ring hurt her eyes, and she passed the black staff to one hand in order to shade her eyes with the other.

“
These who dance rings, who fight rings… They are Acolyte Tressa… and Acolyte Elia.”
The voice came from that darkness of the highest balcony, where the Spines would sit and watch the carnage of their students go on down below. Spines were the freakish men with long claws that oversaw the Acolytes’ training. This one was speaking in the queer, guttural dialect of the nymphtongue that all the Kinn spoke… though to Elia’s knowledge, neither Spines nor any other Kinn were nymphs.