Terry Simpson: Ashes and Blood

Power built within her. It grew from a thrum to a whine. Sweet ecstasy. She unleashed the first salvo and the others with her.

Her attacks were the finest streaks of heat and light, honed to points like crossbow bolts. Jerem and the other High Shin repeated her Forging. His Matii sent forth a rolling wave of fire.

Her targets were the opposing High Shin and Raijin. Kill the head and the body will follow. The flame wall was meant for the gerde.

All along the Tribunal’s lines, Matii fell, pierced through the chest or head, wounds cauterizing after the essences struck. The fire wave washed over them.

Buried in heat and flame, screams and wails issued from the Matii and gerde alike, the humans sounds somehow more animalistic in their death throes. The cacophony crawled across Galiana’s skin. She whispered a prayer for the dead.

Her attention turned to the remainder of the battle. Smoke choked the air in black plumes. Halvor and the Sven had reemerged in several other areas, now more their normal size but no less deadly. The Svenzar was helping a group of Pathfinders who were defending a wagon. Galiana squinted. A familiar form in full black Raijin regalia fought against others similarly garbed. Accompanied by two Pathfinders, Irmina was carving a path toward her and the Travelshaft. Death walked with her.

A strange occurrence caught Galiana’s eye. Darkness blurred around several Forgers. The men and women uttered wordless screams before they fell, their bodies riddled with wounds. The darkness resolved into wriggling snake-like monstrosities.

What in Ilumin’s name-?

The earlier screech cut her off. This time, when she glanced up, she picked out the sound’s origin. Her breath caught in her throat.

On the balcony above them, two netherlings battled. The creatures were a mass of ebony chitin and tentacles. Mater flew from them at dazzling speeds. Not the single or dual essences she was so accustomed to but complete elements. The Forges were so complex that they passed beyond her comprehension. At times, the netherlings launched from the balcony out into midair, striking at each other before flitting back to solid ground. Neither appeared to have the advantage.

That all changed when several lightning bolts streaked down from what had been a clear sky but was now a mottled gray. Before they could strike their intended targets, tentacles flashed up to form a writhing, fleshy dome. The bolts struck and dissipated.

Galiana snatched a glance to discern the attack’s origin. Several of her own Matii from Eldanhill and the other Mysteras were drawing in another stream of essences. “No!” she screamed. “NO! Fools you will break-”

But it was too late. Flame lances, their orange glow imprinting themselves on her retinas, shot toward the netherlings. In the same instant, darkness blurred to the Matii, reappearing as the black creatures she noted earlier. Her warning cry died in her throat as the creatures devoured them like a school of carnivorous fish, tearing flesh from bone.

A piercing screech, higher and wilder than any before it, sent chills through her.

Impaled by the other’s chitinous arms, the netherling that had used its tentacles for defense flopped to one side. When the victor glanced down toward her, she got the premonition the wrong one had died. With a high-pitched wail, it flung the corpse away.

Forge after Forge tore toward the creature. Helpless, Galiana could only stare as its tentacles whipped out. With ease, it deflected the attacks.

The netherling’s counter came in the form of several hundred black beams no thicker than rope. Each connected to a person and ripped their spines from their bodies. Sela coalesced from each corpse. The worm-like minions streaked to the essences and devoured them. Moments later, Halvor and the Sven charged any other Matii who attempted to attack.

“We have to get to the Vallum now,” Jerem yelled. “It’s the only way to survive that thing.”

Galiana nodded numbly. The calls went out for retreat. Even as they did so, more ropy tendrils shot out, ensnaring more of her people. The Tribunal’s Matii had backed off to reform on one side of the square. This gave the netherling and its minions ample space to feed at will.

“There’s no escape for us.” Galiana’s insides wilted. She found it fitting that all the years spent to make the world better would end where it all began.

“Tell that story to someone else,” a voice said next to her.

She turned to see Irmina standing there, gaze riveted on the carnage within the square. The wagon, still guarded by the Pathfinders trundled behind her. Quintess and her own cohort was a part of the escort.

“I didn’t begin this fight to see it end here.” Irmina brushed back disheveled hair from her sooty, bloodstained face.

“No one here can defeat that.” Jerem nodded toward the netherling. “With the bonds to restrict it broken, we will be nothing but fodder.”

“You can call yourself food if you want, but I am no one’s lunch. Gather as many survivors as you can. I will join you shortly after I buy us some time.” The young Raijin’s eyes grew steely as she stalked toward the Travelshaft.

Frowning, Galiana asked, “What do you plan to do?”

“Tame a zyphyl.”

“How?”

“By promising what it desires most … freedom.”

Cloak draped behind him, Ancel surveyed the cliffs looming above him. Randane’s walls sprouted from them like rows of teeth, the towers along its length the fangs. He shielded his eyes against the swirling snow.

For this endeavor, he’d opted for his leathers alone and commanded all his men to do the same. Any slight advantage that would not hamper his movements might prove essential in the battle to come. Not to mention the stealth required for his plan to work. He’d had a hard time convincing High Shin Cantor to have the Pathfinders do the same. Apparently, they always wore their armor. When he gave them the ultimatum of changing or relinquishing their guardianship, they gave in. To hide their faces, they had donned hooded cloaks with scarfs over their mouths.

He’d allowed the Svenzar Kendin to lead their small contingent through the Travelshaft from Torandil to the ruins of some great city in the no man’s land between Sendeth and Doster, east of Randane. According to Kendin, thousands of the shafts existed. The World’s Veins, they called them. An apt name Ancel guessed, considering the powerful essences that resided within the Travelshafts. It was as if they made up a swift-flowing underground river whose water was almost as pure as the Mater within the Entosis.

When they arrived at Randane, they found an army of Dagodin and Ashishin led by Jerem’s two Exalted. Trust was not a sentiment he ascribed to when it came to the Tribunal, so he’d used his aura sense to discern that they were indeed human. Undeniably strong in Mater, but human nonetheless. At his command, they waited on the plains, ready to be a diversion as he and the others breached the city.

Randane itself seemed much the same as he had left it the day he escaped. At least from this vantage point next to the Kelvore River. Although he could no longer see them, the spires that stabbed the sky had been as he remembered.

The plains near the castle were a different story. He recalled their appearance the day he and Kachien took their walk, made love in the small tributary, and his ability to see auras had manifested in response to his emotions. What amounted to a small town had thrived outside the city. Beyond the cheaply constructed wood and brick structures, the world was a green ocean interspersed with colorful blooms dotted by trees.

Now, all that remained of the town was rubble and char. Mud covered what were once fields, bleeding brown into what should have been a white sea. Reeking corpses littered the town’s streets, wafting to him even here. He put a hand over his mouth. When he first saw the thousands of bloated corpses the Tribunal’s armies left behind, he’d spilled the contents of his stomach. He couldn’t afford to show any weakness again, regardless of how the sight was forever burned into his memory.