Terry Simpson - Ashes and Blood

But not on this man.

Where the essences should have touched his armor and body, they stood a few inches above him instead. The space between the seething mass of power and the man was only an inch thick, but it was plain to see. Something around his body prevented Mater from touching him. Some kind of shield. If she cocked her head just right and strained her Matersense hard enough, she managed to make out a colorless, nebulous membrane.

“Is something wrong?” Stefan asked.

“I cannot mend him.” Galiana sagged from the effort of examining the giant so deeply.

“That’s a first,” Stefan said. “You sure?”

“Yes, there’s a shield of some sort protecting him.” Vision blurry, she nodded. She located the chair near the table and slid into it.

“Are you well?”

“A-A little tired from reading him.”

Stefan strode across the room to her desk against the wall. He poured some water from a pitcher.

“No,” she said. “Give me some kinai instead.”

He nodded and picked up the other container with the red liquid. “Is there anything you can do to help him at all?” After pouring the water back into its pitcher, he refilled the cup with kinai juice. “I don’t know if he’s dying, but he doesn’t appear to be getting any better.” Stefan brought the drink over to her.

She took the cup gratefully. “I am wracking my brain for a solution, a way to mend him, but I come up with nothing.” She gulped down a mouthful of kinai, savoring the sweet taste. “Even if I linked with several other Matii, I do not think they would help. Whatever is causing the effect around him, be it his Etchings or his armor, the essences cannot penetrate it right now. I have never seen anything of the sort.”

“What if we tried to make a hole using a divya the same way I was able to pierce his armor with one?”

She took another deep drink and shook her head. “That’s the problem. If the essences cannot get through, how did your arrow?”

“Who knows?” Stefan shrugged.

“I guess it is worth a try.”

The kinai began to work, the fire it brought racing down her gullet. Moments later, the fatigue washed away. Refreshed, she stood.

“Should I go out and get the same type of arrow?” Stefan asked from where he stood next to the giant.

“No, I actually have another idea.”

Stefan stepped away from the man, making room for her.

The remainder of the kinai in hand, she stood on her stool and stretched over the giant’s face until the cup was directly over his mouth. Then she poured.

The liquid splashed onto his lips without the slightest hindrance. His mouth parted and within moments, his throat moved as he gulped down the drink.

“More,” Galiana whispered in amazement, passing the cup to Stefan. Why hadn’t she thought of this right away? She used kinai in her most potent mixtures, but it still needed the aid of an actual Forging. Could the properties within the fruit work all on their own?

Stefan brought her another cup filled to the brim. This too she poured down the man’s throat.

“Look,” Stefan said, his words a hiss of wonder.

Galiana glanced to where Stefan pointed. Her mouth dropped open, jaw unhinged.

The arrow was moving on its own, wriggling up through the leather. Blood dribbled around the wooden shaft. With a final push, the arrow fell to the side, slid off the now invisible shield, and dropped to the floor.

The giant coughed, and his eyes opened.

Ryne woke from a fitful dream where the world burned. Within it, he fought a black-garbed man, who like himself, employed his Etchings at will. By the man’s movements, Ryne determined he used the same Styles as the one he fought when he destroyed the Wraithwoods in the Barrier Mountains.

A painful throb wracked his chest. The remainder of the dream was a blur, but he did remember a man, a dead man, shooting him with a bow. It shouldn’t have been possible, but the shaft had somehow penetrated his shield. He also recalled a golden-haired woman with an aura he recognized from deep within the Fretian Woods when he saved Kahkon’s life. Vision blurry, he tried to focus, and slowly the shadow above him resolved into the face of a stern looking, silver-haired female with eyes the color of honey.

“W-who are you,” he said. To his ears, the words sounded garbled.

The woman frowned before her face disappeared altogether.

Above him was a gray stone ceiling. He reached a tentative hand to his wound and puckered his brow. The hole and the arrow were gone. His armor had also repaired itself. How? For the first time he noticed the sweetness on his tongue.

Kinai.

Ryne licked his lips and lurched up into a sitting position. He sniffed. Something reeked. Torches and candles lit the interior of a room, throwing shadows from shelves spaced at even intervals along the walls. Vials, flasks, books and other utensils synonymous with mending crowded the racks. A few chairs, a small stool, a desk, and the table he sat on were the only other furniture in the otherwise small, pristine room. The cleanliness made the stench stand out even more.

“What’s that awful smell?” he asked.

“You.”

He looked down toward the voice. Face rife with wrinkles, a diminutive woman stood close to the table, her lips twitching into a smile. Dressed in sky blue robes with long flowing sleeves, she studied him. Gnarled fingers interlocked, two skinny forefingers tapping against each other, she appeared to be waiting patiently. Familiar patterns to match her eye color bloomed in her aura.

Ryne scratched at his bearded face. The hair reached down to his chest. “I need a shave.”

“You need a bath,” the woman said.

He tilted his head to one side. Something about her face definitely seemed familiar. Awfully familiar. “Do I know you?”

“Do you?”

“I think I do.”

“Oh? From where?”

He opened his mouth to say then snapped it closed, recalling the dead man who shot him. The memory clicked like a key in a lock. He did know her. Ashishin Galiana Calestis, one of his advisors when he was King Nerian the Lightbearer. His sworn enemy when he became Nerian the Shadowbearer. The woman’s presence made the man exactly who he thought: Stefan Dorn, his old Knight Commander and General. Ryne frowned.

Stefan was dead.

He killed the man himself, while Sakari had taken care of his children.

“No, I must be mistaken.” Ryne took a steadying breath before his past atrocities overwhelmed him. “Where’s the man who shot me?”

“I’m right here.”

Body tensing, Ryne turned his head to the voice. It was deeper than he remembered but much the same. So were those eyes. Hard, glinting emeralds, reflecting intelligence with a habit of assessing people and circumstances. Weighing, always weighing. The face was older with a few scars. Gray streaked the once full, dark hair. Stefan Dorn appeared a bit thinner, but as usual, he was clean-shaven and neat even in fur and leather armor.

At any moment, Ryne expected the man to charge him, swinging the sword at his hip. Ryne attempted to appear unconcerned, not allowing his hand to tighten on his greatsword.

Stefan did not move. He simply watched, his eyes missing nothing. No semblance of recognition crossed the old Knight Commander’s face.

Ryne frowned before another sliver of memory came to him. Whoever commanded him in the past had changed his appearance, shrouding him. The Forging settled an inch above his armor and body similar to the shield his aura formed whenever something threatened his life. Using the shroud, his true self remained hidden for centuries. The Forging was similar in many ways to the seals he and the other Eztezians placed on themselves to hide from the shade and prevent themselves from using their power to destroy the world. In his latest incarnation, his present one, the shroud had been removed.