Terry Simpson: Ashes and Blood

Despite those who would acknowledge the Tribunal’s rightful allegiances, the recent events in Eldanhill and several other territories further compounded matters. The Setian, hated by all in Ostania since the days of the Shadowbearer War, had declared their existence here in Granadia. She imagined the rest of the world’s shock at such a revelation. Not only did the Tribunal harbor an enemy, one who had decimated much of Ostania, they had seen to their well-being. What could be worse? The Setain war machine, led by Nerian, had ground entire cities to dust. They spared no one. Although the dregs from the wars still lived, they were considered so vile that peoples across the world refused to name those survivors as Setian. They were Amuni’s Children, monsters, inhuman, creatures akin to shadelings, poisoned by their worship of the shade and its god, Amuni.

And the Tribunal had saved them. Simply brilliant.

Deception after deception, inject enough truth where necessary. The Tribunal had been tinkering with men’s lives for years in the same fashion.

Irmina couldn’t help the slight twitch of her lips. She was beaten even before this inquisition began. They could easily lay the blame for it on her shoulders. Even if she claimed Jerem’s involvement, he himself was not present when they killed Voliny. He probably would not deny what happened, but as a Raijin in training, she was technically the commander of the Tribunal’s Matii. Sure, there was Knight Commander Varick, but she was certain his centuries of service would absolve the man of any wrongdoing. Which left her. Irmina felt her shoulders slump.

“High Jin Quintess,” Irmina said, meeting the woman’s unflinching gaze. “What would you have of me?”

A slow smile spread across the High Raijin’s face.

“If you say I made the right decision, then why do I feel like shit?” Irmina asked as she tried her best not to snap at High Shin Jerem.

Gasps issued along the hallway from several students in the blue robes bearing the incomplete figure eight insignia of novices. A few others, in various shades, glanced over, some muttering amongst themselves, adding to the susurrus of voices. Irmina ignored their reactions as she trudged through the Iluminus’ pillared walkways with Jerem at her side. The shining walls and vibrant colors on the windows surrounding her were supposed to evoke certainty, a reflection of positivity through light. They failed miserably.

Jerem, his withered, skinny arms clasped behind his back, arched a wispy eyebrow.

“I–I’m sorry.” Irmina shook her head.

“You should be.”

“No need to rub it in.”

“As for the way you feel,” Jerem shrugged, the crimson robes about his shoulders moving slightly, “you are supposed to feel that way. It is the point of the Raijin exam. Find a person’s weakness and use it against them. See how they react, judge their control. One of the reasons they make aspiring Raijin wear those ridiculous outfits, by the way.” A slight smile graced his thin lips.

Irmina cringed at the thought of the kilt that covered so little she might as well have been naked. The top had exposed her ample cleavage, and the bottom left little to the imagination. Only through great effort did she manage not to gut some ogling ruffian or drunk. Thank the gods she now wore the plain blue tunic and trousers. Dressed as she was did bring a raised brow here or there, but not the lusty looks and comments of her old garb. “Ability to act logically when faced with an extreme situation,” Irmina quoted.

“For the most part, yes.”

“Really? There wasn’t much sense in what I did,” she argued, thinking back to her choice. “If Ryne is truly who Voliny said, how does not killing him when he was weak make for a correct decision?”

“Everything is not in black and white, light or shade, truth or lie. There are myriads of grays to consider, plenty of dimness, many a half-truth and more. All helping to bring about what we are and strive to be.”

Resisting the urge to snort, Irmina said, “Similar to how you’re talking now?”

Jerem’s lips twitched. “Precisely.”

“You mentioned more. What else could there be?”

High Shin Jerem stopped.

Drawing her brows together, Irmina glanced around to see if some inattentive pupil had crossed their path, but they all maintained a wide berth. Every student gave a quick nod of deference first to Jerem then to her as they hurried by, eager to be at their classes. When she returned her attention to her mentor, Jerem’s white eyebrow, so similar to the pure snow falling like puffy ash outside the Iluminus’ windows, was raised again.

Her forehead furrowed even more. She expected him to say she knew the answer to her own question. The ensuing silence as they resumed their walk confirmed her suspicion. She followed, this time a step behind, face flushed like a scolded schoolgirl back when she first met the tall, waif of a man whose youthful effervescence belied his stature. Mind working furiously, she bit her lip, pondering why she’d been given the particular test of facing her most hated enemy and having to choose between assisting him or driving her sword through his back when given the opportunity.

A sudden smile bloomed across her face. “Control. Everything it means to be any type of Matii hinges on emotional control.”

High Shin Jerem grunted.

“They risked my life … no … you risked my life to see if I could control myself? You gave me the chance to relieve myself of all the daemons haunting my dreams only to snatch it away from me?” This time, she was the one who stopped and stared at the High Shin.

“I never deprived you of anything.” He kept on walking. “You accomplished that yourself.”

Irmina’s hand clenched against her side. Remembering her words from a moment ago, she sought the deep place within her mind where she walled herself away from her emotions while they flitted outside. The Eye brought her comfort, but her rage still existed, buzzing like a nattering fly beyond its surface. With an exaggerated breath, she stalked after Jerem.

She caught up with him as he turned down another hall past several columns. Guards stood at attention, tasseled lances held before them. On the breast of every surcoat shone an emblem of the sun with three lightning bolts striking in front of it. The Lightstorm insignia appeared brighter against their silver armor. Unlike the main thoroughfare, no windows lined this hall that led deeper into the Iluminus. No one traveling down this walkway wore the colors of students and apprentices or even the paler red with gold sleeves of Ashishin. The few people walking this way displayed the bright crimson, silver, gold, and stripes of High Ashishin.

“Good for you to maintain control even now,” Jerem finally said. “You will need it.”

Another test. She almost groaned.

Similar to the walls along other corridors, the ones here shone, imbued with light essences that kept the Iluminus in perpetual brilliance and chased away any possibility of a shadow. Even the floor and ceiling glowed. Tapestries and paintings lined the walls, displaying various battles. Some were actual recounts, others, stuff of legend.

A series of paintings depicted the Tribunal’s history, dating back several millennia. They showed the first among the Exalted: Trucida Adler, Jenoah Amalie, Sol Remus, Damal Adelfried, and others. Men and women all said to be related to the Eztezians-the direct descendants of the gods themselves given the task to protect the world. Damal, in particular, was displayed larger than life, a giant to rival Ryne’s size, if not larger. The man reminded her of the brief glimpse she’d gotten of some sort of spiritual presence back when Ryne defeated Voliny.