Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

The boy’s words, combined with the itch that often nagged at his mind whenever someone watched him, brought uneasiness creeping down Ryne’s back. A decayed odor wafted through the air as he took in his surroundings. It was the same stench as at Miss Corten’s but multiplied tenfold. His gaze immediately picked out an aura of shade among a nearby copse. It took him a moment to realize the aura emanated from the trees themselves. The branches and leaves were as black as a moonless night.

“Take care of him,” Ryne ordered Sakari as he lay Kahkon’s head down and stood.

Ryne eased his way through the undergrowth, his hand on his sword. The brush ended well short of the copse of rosewood and teak. Tangled vines, roots, leaves, and creepers spread across the forest floor in an advanced state of decomposition. He squelched through the decay, the brown of his boots becoming black.

Careful not to touch the trunks, he slipped through an open space between the trees. The putrid smell of decay and moldy fur as if he stood inside a mismanaged dog kennel grew to choking proportions. As he entered, a lapra howled from Sakari’s direction. Ryne turned to go back when the sight of what lay in the middle of the area caught his eye. His hands coiled into fists.

The eight missing villagers, their bodies black and purple, lay among festering roots and rotten kinai fruit. Fleshy tendrils connected them all together in a mass that vibrated with a beating heart’s rhythm. The men and women’s chests rose and fell slowly.

Beside them were four beasts joined in the same fashion.

The creatures appeared to have been lapras at one time, but their snouts were now more elongated like a wolf’s. Their mouths lolled, revealing rows of sharp teeth. The middle legs were almost fully withdrawn into their torsos. They were each at least seven feet in length. Muscles rippled beneath ebony skin and fur.

Memories of similar creatures before and during the War of Remnants surfaced within Ryne. Wraithwolves? He frowned even as the thought brought a chill crawling along his back. Is someone or something attempting to create the beasts? But that’s supposed to be impossible in this realm. They must be what’s left of the host from the war. If so, how did they cross the Rotted Forest without triggering my wards?

Ryne sucked in a breath at the auras around the shadelings. They were the same as the one he saw around the Alzari. He remembered where he saw them before.

Amuni’s Children.

The realization led to several conclusions. These particular Alzari must have given themselves to the shade. They had to be protecting these shadelings for Amuni’s Children not fleeing as he first thought. Which meant the Children had indeed breached his wards, crossed the Rot from the lands beyond, and were somewhere within Ostania.

Ryne drew his sword.

“Use our power,” hissed the deep voice. “It’s the only way to be sure.”

The other, opposing sentience remained silent.

Ryne’s Scripts thrummed to life, and Mater surged through him. His bloodlust triggered, and he didn’t subdue the feeling.

Irmina hunkered down among the branches and leaves, staring slack-jawed. Below her, the fight between the giant’s bodyguard and the lapras raged. These particular ones were normal in size, only about three feet across. They’d attacked as soon as the giant disappeared among the strange black trees.

Silvereyes danced among the lapras, always keeping himself between the closest one and Kahkon. The man’s movements were a blur of inhuman speed.

At first, the creatures had tried to dart in and snatch at the boys legs, but once they realized those efforts were futile, they resorted to attacking the Ostanian. Jaws dripping, lapras snapped and snarled as they pounced, their dark fur made darker by the waning light. Each one that sprang in fell to the ground. Wounded animals struggled to their feet to limp back among the trees. Yet, the creatures continued to pour from the forest’s dark recesses.

The bodyguard moved like a snake, his arm flickering as if he and his sword were one. Not once did he harm any beast more than to maim it with a precise slice to render it harmless. Numerous wounds scoured his armor from slashing claws and snapping teeth, tallying up with the other older scratches and nicks to leave his leathers a bloody mess. But not one lapra passed him. If she was not seeing it with her own eyes, Irmina wouldn’t have believed one person could hold off this many beasts.

With the back of her hand, Irmina flicked the salty sting of sweat from her eyes. Frowning, she stared from the wetness on her hand to Silvereyes. Where she was covered in perspiration from the day’s heat, no such sheen reflected from his face. The man didn’t appear fatigued, much less bothered by his injuries. Who or better yet, what was he?

Irmina winced each time his sword met flesh and at the yelps and plaintive cries that followed. She hadn’t meant for this to happen. When she tamed the leader of one of the lapra packs, she’d only intended on keeping the giant man off her. Somehow, the animal had broken from her control while calling to other packs and everything went terribly wrong. She’d tried in vain to touch the beast’s mind again, but it was as if a dark cloud hung within the creature’s head, preventing her from making any connection. Her efforts were met with the same intense resistance as when she attempted to force the infected lapra off Kahkon.

The only other time she failed to tame a beast was when she attempted to control Charra. The daggerpaw’s mind was a vise she couldn’t touch much less pry open. Thinking about Charra made thoughts of Ancel bloom fresh in her mind. She suppressed the memories and the longing they brought and focused on the events below.

Gradually, the beasts’ attacks lessened until they stalked around the boy and Silvereyes in a wide circle. The bodyguard’s armor, dark with his and lapra blood, hung in tatters in some places, but he still appeared unaffected by his wounds. Not even his chest rose and fell with the heavy breaths of exertion. He cocked his head to one side as if listening.

Hair rose at the back of Irmina’s neck, her shoulders tensed, and a prickle eased up her spine.

Silvereyes whirled to face the copse of trees into which the giant had disappeared.

Blistering waves like an open furnace struck Irmina. The blast of scalding air snapped her head around and forced her to hold her face away from the heated backwash. Snatching frantically at a branch, she just managed to prevent herself from falling headfirst.

A bellow echoed in a voice to challenge thunder.

When she was finally able to face the copse, Irmina stared, her jaw unhinged. Flames licked out from amongst the blackened woods. Branches snapping, the great trees yawed, then toppled to the ground. Luminescence as blinding as the noonday sun forced her to snap her eyes shut. Bright spots still dancing before her eyes, she pried her eyes open to gaze at what was left of the stand and gasped.

Distorted by heated waves, a giant form stood swathed in white light and surrounded by fire.

A voice cried out.

Irmina’s head whipped around toward the sound.

Silvereyes swayed before he dropped to one knee, his hands gripping his head as violent throes wracked his body. He fell face first, his head at an angle where she could still see his eyes.

A mind touched hers-a mind with a similar feel as when she communed with beasts. She locked gazes with Silvereyes.

For the first time, she saw his eyes in detail. Silver flecks dominated where there should have been white, and his irises glowed green. As she watched, they changed, becoming deep pools of obsidian like ink dropped on a pristine, white canvas. A feeling as if she would drown in their depths sucked at her. She thought she saw the man’s lips twitch before he crawled onto his knees.