Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

Kahkon coughed again. His mouth twisted into a rictus that might have been an attempt at a grin. Spit flew from his lips.

Ryne wanted to return the sentiment, but he couldn’t. Instead, he thought about which story from When the Gods Walked Among Us Kahkon liked best. His gaze met the boy’s watery blue eyes and he began.

“The moment before the Eztezian Guardians pulled him from his home in Hydae and trapped him in the Nether with the other gods, Amuni, the Lord of shade, made one last effort to cross the Planes to our world. He wished to break the seals the Eztezians were building. Once, he would have relied on his brother Ilumni for help, but no more. The two were foes now.

“Instead, using a skill called the Bloodline Affinity, he scoured Hydae for humans and beasts who could touch Mater. Once he found enough subjects, Amuni, weakened the Kassite-the great barrier between the Planes-and was able to open a rift into the Nether and capture several thousand netherlings. He then taught his most powerful followers, the Skadwaz, how to create monsters to do their bidding. Using a great Materforging, they combined the netherlings with the people and beasts they collected to create a new breed of creature-shadelings. The Skadwaz ravaged the worlds for all manner of unique creatures on which to use this transformation. When their army was strong enough, they attacked Denestia.

“But the Eztezians had a great power on their side. A power akin to the gods.

“The netherlings, who hated Amuni and many of the other gods for the experiments they often used on their kind, had imbued their power into the Eztezians. A power said to be stronger than the essences we see around us. Using that power, and led by Eztezian Damal Adelfried, the Denestian forces defended against the shade's hordes in battle after battle. Oceans boiled and swirled into maelstroms or became deserts, mountains crumbled, forests died, becoming barren lands…”

Ryne told the story just as the book did. Some of his earlier tension eased from his body as Kahkon’s eyes took on an added spark. The telling continued for over an hour before Taeria was finished, and Kahkon fell asleep.

A knock sounded on the mender’s door. The old woman wiped sweat from her forehead and away from her weary eyes, and shuffled to the door. A few words passed between her and her visitor before she returned to Ryne.

“Mayor Bertram wishes to meet with you at Hagan’s,” Taeria said.

Ryne nodded. His eyes remained on the boy. From the youth’s aura, he still struggled, but his chances at survival had increased tenfold. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Taeria. I’m sorry I brought this upon Carnas.”

“Foolishness,” Taeria said, “We knew what you were when we accepted you here among us. Besides, living in the Ostania’s wilds was never meant to be safe. Go now before Bertram and Hagan kill each other.”

Ryne smiled at that last, opened the door, and ducked outside.

Although night had fallen, the day’s heat lingered in the air and wispy clouds scudded across the dark sky. Denestia’s twin moons shone silvery blue, their hue glimmering in deviate highlights over anything the lamps and torches in Carnas didn’t touch.

Striding down Carnas’ main road, Ryne barely noticed the villagers who greeted him, many hailing him for saving Kahkon. Lara shuffled for a place by his side. She too showered him with thanks as she matched his long strides by running in short bursts. Ryne acknowledged her with a distracted smile and a nod while peering over the throng gathered near Hagan’s Inn.

The few older children out this late ran beside him, their laughter haunting him, every face familiar. They all came to his home to hear his stories, to learn. Feet pattered next to him for a while longer until his long strides left them all behind. Still, he couldn’t escape the occasional frown or weighted gazes from other village folk on his path. Neither could he shut out the occasional caustic tone when they mentioned his name in whispers at the edge of his hearing.

The day he woke over seventy years ago came to him as he relived it. Dazed and confused, he’d opened his eyes to a strange place filled with the most exotic life one could imagine, overflowing with primordial forces of Mater that flooded him. Sakari stood over him, expressionless as always. An Entosis, Sakari would later tell him, is where he awoke. A place hidden from the rest of the world only those with a gift like his could see much less enter. On that day, he rose with no memory of his past. All he knew was his name, his skill with his sword, how to utilize his Scripts, and to his shame, harness his power to murder.

Through the years, he’d tried so hard to disappear, to hide himself away from the many wrongs he’d committed since then, to find the answers the Svenzar said he must seek. His many names spilled through his head.

Ryne the Shadeslayer, Ryne the Lightbringer, Ryne the Deathbringer, Ryne the Lost Battleguard. That last made him spit. He remembered the fools who worshipped him back then as if he really was some god’s Battleguard. Yet, over time, his name became lost. It dwindled to a whisper, a myth, something told by mothers to scare their children. Sakari would return with stories from cities he’d visited where people believed Ryne never did exist or was dead, and finally he thought he found peace. Until now.

Ryne seethed. This woman, Mariel, this priestess of Ilumni, changed all that. She tracked him as if she knew his identity, and since her appearance, the deaths had begun. And now, not only had Alzari assassins once again appeared, but Kahkon’s life hung in the balance. As if all of that wasn’t enough, one of the greatest threats Denestia had known during the War of Remnants and the Shadowbearer War had reappeared.

He didn’t believe in coincidence. Things would get worse. Maybe he should’ve killed her when she first appeared, but that little voice in his mind, the one that reminded him of his past, the one he often listened to the last few years convinced him to stop. Maybe this time the voice was wrong.

Without so much as a nod to the two guards outside Hagan’s Inn, he jerked the door open and entered. “Hello, Hagan,” Ryne said, his quiet voice carrying through the room. “Bertram.” He nodded in the general direction of the ebony-skinned mayor. “I’m tempted to go after Mariel again.”

Double chin jiggling, Hagan’s head snapped around from giving instructions to his serving women. Vana and Vera went off to do his bidding.

“Please, don’t do anything rash,” begged Hagan, his heavy brow furrowed as he took in Ryne’s scowl. The innkeeper sat at an oak table, his stubby sausage fingers dwarfing his pipe.

A few feet away, Mayor Bertram sat, the expression on his face perking up at Ryne’s statement.

“Rash would’ve been to kill her the day she showed.” Ryne strode to the table, the stained wooden floor creaking beneath his weight. He slung the leather strap connected to his scabbard over his head, placed his sheathed greatsword on the table, and eased into the only chair in Hagan’s Inn made to accommodate his eight-foot frame.

On any other night, the establishment would already be crowded with villagers, even more so with the unusually dry weather the past few days. There would be singing and dancing with many taking turns on the small stage to recite poetry while Miss Lara would play her ivory flute. Not now. Tonight, the pall and gloom of the day’s events dimmed even the lamps that hung from braziers and cast their flickering light about the serving hall, and made the moonlight filtering through curtains inconsequential. The tables and chairs spread throughout the room and set against the inn’s sandstone walls were empty. The guards at the inn’s entrance made sure they stayed that way. No glasses clinked, no laughter roared, and there was no buzz of conversations. The silence whispered ill tidings.