Terry Simpson: Ashes and Blood

“Treated the same. The nerve of them,” he grumbled. “I wasn’t even worthy of them asking permission. They informed me an inquisitor would be on the way on the same day he arrived.”

Galiana could see how much the insult angered Jerem. “I would have said they are panicking, but Randane proves their actions might be necessary.”

“Possibly, which is why I suggest we plan for the worst. I would say sitting in Eldanhill is a bad idea, but you have protection here that you can be certain of. Amuni’s Children must act soon if they have shadeling armies across the Vallum other than the ones you defeated. The Tribunal siege on Randane also gives you time.”

“I agree.” As much as Galiana wanted to be gone from Eldanhill, Ancel kept reassuring her that his mentor was coming. She did not bother to ask how he knew. All that mattered was how soon his teacher would reach Eldanhill. “In the meantime, we have gathered as many stragglers as we could and are training them. The response and the numbers have been good. One could almost think the gods are smiling on us. How has your own recruitment gone?”

“Well enough. Better than I hoped.” Jerem grunted, a smile playing across his lips. The first one she had seen since he arrived. “They will certainly be a surprise for many.”

The words provided some relief, however small. “Can we flee, take him there for safety?”

“Oh no, not yet. He must accomplish his first task and bring the Setian together. Some parts of the world may hate him for it, but it must be done.” Jerem stared out the window. “He will need an army behind him. One unlike the world has ever seen.”

“Still it might not be enough,” she said under her breath.

“No, it might not.” Jerem’s voice was grim. “But at least he will give the people some belief, a place to turn. Despite what we have preached, there are no saviors, Galiana. The people, the world itself must carry the brunt of what is to come. All we can do is help in any way we can to lessen its impact.”

Galiana couldn’t help but hunch in on herself at such a prospect. “What if he is killed like all the others before him?” It pained her to ask, but she needed to hear these answers, feel what was at stake from another mouth. One she trusted.

“Then chances are we all die. And whoever remains standing will enslave those who survive.”

Galiana pondered what Jerem said. This could not be the last chance. Out there, somewhere, someone else knew what was happening. Someone else was preparing a way to help Denestia. She had to believe that. If she did not, then her own hope would abandon her. “What word from the Iluminus?”

“Quintess has set things in motion. She and a trusted few.”

“Then I guess it is time for us to see this to the end.”

“Agreed,” Jerem said, “but timing is delicate. Do not move until you are forced to do so.”

Galiana nodded absently, her mind drifting off to consider how best to protect Ancel and what the future held if the world burned.

The giant shape stepped into the light, the metallic glint of a sword in its hand.

Stefan’s bowstring twanged.

“No!” Ancel reached a hand out to the arrow in desperation as if he could draw it back.

The arrow flew true. It pierced armor adorning an oak-trunk chest like a blade through silk. The most beautiful armor Ancel had ever seen.

The giant was a man. Tangled black hair hid his features, more akin to Charra’s fur than a mustache and beard. The stranger’s eyes widened at the shaft jutting from his chest. A massive hand rose to snap the wood in two before he pitched forward. He landed face down with a resounding thud and a shower of snow.

Stefan nocked another arrow, spurring his horse into a trot.

“Da. Stop.” Frantic, Ancel ran toward the giant.

“Come back,” Stefan yelled. “You don’t know who or what he is.”

“Yes, I do.” Ancel continued his run without looking back but made sure to veer where he thought he could block the next arrow. “It’s him. He’s the one. I can feel him.” He stopped over the man.

“What?” his father called from behind him.

“The link,” Ancel stressed, trying to hide his excitement despite the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of the giant. The bitter scent of the blood spattered amongst the bush and on the ground set his heart racing. More often than not, when his father shot, he did so to kill. Another odor emanated from the giant. Ancel cringed at the reek. The stranger stunk like death or worse, but the strength of the bond to him said he was alive. Barely. He glanced over his shoulder. “He’s the one I’m linked to … my teacher …” A thrill ran through him when he uttered the word.

“Oh Ilumni.” Stefan slung his bow over his back and swung down from his saddle.

Ancel resumed his inspection of the giant. Artwork in dizzying colors and vivid detail covered the back of the man’s form-fitting leather armor. There were depictions of landscapes, battles, unknown beasts, weapons, celestial bodies, and words in scripts. Ancel could not begin to fathom any of it despite his extensive studies. The drawings flowed from the short-sleeves of the giant’s chestpiece onto the skin of his muscular arms in one seamless design. Ancel sucked in a breath, gaze riveted on the artwork as he brushed the ones on his own right arm. These too were Etchings. He was sure of it.

“We need to get him off the arrow shaft,” his father said, boots crunching in the icy grass. Stefan hawked and spat. “In Ilumni’s name, he stinks.”

They worked in concert, trying to flip the huge man onto his back, but he was too heavy, his armor like chunks of ice. Even his massive rune-etched sword resisted their efforts to relinquish it from his grasp. With a whine, Charra trotted over. Head down, the daggerpaw pushed the body by the waist. Ancel placed himself near the thighs and Stefan at the chest. Together, they heaved and rolled the giant over.

An awful stench wafted from the man like stepping onto a corpse-laden field days after a battle. Body convulsing, Ancel retched, covering his mouth and nose at the same time.

Long scars marred the left side of the giant’s face. Discoloration seeped across the exposed portions of his skin. The parts of the man’s hands not covered in tattoos were a bluish black. So were his fingers where they gripped his sword’s hilt. A similar tint showed from his neck up. The areas not affected by frostbite were tanned a deeper brown than Stefan’s skin. His chest rose and fell, slow and uneven. A liquid gurgle escaped his lips. The arrow must have punctured a lung.

A sense of relief washed through Ancel at his father having missed the heart. He’d seen men survive an arrow to a lung, but he’d also seen some die.

“This work on the armor and skin …” Stefan said. A frown on his face, he circled the giant. “I’ve seen this before.”

“Well … yes, on me.”

“No, not yours. Even when I first saw your Etchings I thought they were familiar, but I couldn’t quite place them. Now, with these …” Stefan trailed off.

“Where? On who?”

“A long time ago, back in Seti. It was on a-never mind. We need to get him to Eldanhill immediately.”

Intrigued, Ancel opened his mouth to press the issue.

“Forget it. Now isn’t the time or place,” his father said.

Ancel snapped his mouth shut and nodded. He took a moment to consider the giant’s size and weight. “How are we going to move him?”

“We’ll build a large litter.”

As doubtful as he was, Ancel was willing to try, but he also had other concerns. “What about the wolves, Da?” Squinting, he peered into the woods. “They could return at any moment.”