Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

When he left the water, she had already picked up her dress and was heading up the hill in her swaying walk. Her hair fell behind her in wet tresses, dark gold in the sunlight. Despite its thickness and length, it did little to hide the myriad thin white scars across her back.

Ancel watched her for a moment more before he grabbed his clothes and followed. Charra padded after him.

At the hill’s crest, Kachien flattened a patch of grass big enough for both of them. She placed her dress down and stretched out on her back like a tan and gold fox basking in the sun. Ancel joined her.

“Something happened out there,” Ancel said, as he stared at the wispy clouds littering the cerulean sky.

“You think?” Kachien said with mock offense as she played with the charm around his neck.

Ancel turned his head to find her peering into his face. “Seriously. I saw something unusual. It’s happened before, but I never thought of it until now.”

Kachien frowned. “What did you see besides my nakedness?”

“It was as if every living creature shone with color. Too many colors to count. In my Mater training-” He cut off at Kachien’s gasp.

“You can touch Mater?” Kachien stopped twiddling his pendant and sat up, her eyes wary.

Ancel paused for a moment. He had not intended to let his Teaching slip. But near Kachien, he didn’t feel the need to keep secrets. “No. Not yet. I can sense it around me when I open myself. The world comes alive when I do. This was like touching my Matersense but different.”

Kachien hugged her knees. “When I lived in Ostania, my people, the Alzari, could do these things with Mater. They were among the first killed by the shade in the War of Remnants.” A shudder passed though her body. “There are many among us born with this curse.”

“It’s not a curse,” Ancel protested. But the pain etched on Kachien’s face spoke on its own. She’d spoken about losing everyone she knew before, but she’d never been this specific. “Matii help the keep the world safe. It’s a great honor in Granadia to become one. It’s them who saved Ostania during the same war you speak of.”

“I know this. It is why I choose to live here, despite how some of your people look at me. But still, we were taught to touch this Mater was a curse. The idea was whipped into us. It is a hard thing to make myself think otherwise.”

Ancel brushed his hand down her face and shoulder then down her back. Her scars were smooth stripes below his fingers. Kachien’s eyes closed. She shivered at his touch.

“Was that where you received these?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“Why? Why whip you like this?”

“So we would not forget. My people believe your feelings bring out your power. Our Formist gods were said to feel the turnings of the world through their emotions. It is only through their control that kept the world from tearing apart or so our priests say. Those among us cursed to touch Mater had to show the same control. Everyone had to take the trials, and they included beatings in order to bring forth the most primal emotions. If you could touch Mater, it rose in you then.” A tear trickled down Kachien’s face.

Speechless, Ancel wiped the tear away. In her eyes, he saw the truth of Kachien’s pain, and in her voice he’d felt a touch of sorrow the depths of which he couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“I should have asked you if you were one such before I touched you in the ways I have,” Kachien said, her voice apologetic.

“No. You didn’t need to. I wanted you more than anything else I’ve felt in a long time.”

Kachien shook her head. “It is you who do not understand. We were taught only those who could control their emotions would be allowed to wield Mater. They were given no choice but to complete their training.” Although she sat beside him, her eyes said she was a thousand miles away. “If they failed in this, they were killed before the madness took them. Our histories show those who escaped the culling. The suffering they later brought has become legend. They killed and destroyed without care, forever a slave to the power burning within them. They were called the Deathbringers.”

“How did Materforging drive them mad?”

“We believe there are three things necessary to make one a Matus. First, your body and mind had to be like…a…a…No, that is not the right word.” Kachien’s shaped brows drew together.

“A conduit?” Ancel offered.

“What is that?”

“It is a pipe or channel allowing something to pass.”

“Yes. A condooeet to your sela so Mater on the outside could touch within.” She frowned at Ancel’s smile to her pronunciation. “Then, you had to be able to store enough essences. A man who couldn’t store any but could still sense the elements would become a warrior fighting with divya . A Binder, similar to your Dagodin.”

Ancel nodded to show he understood. What Kachien was saying was not much different from what Teacher Galiana taught.

“The second requirement is there must be enough emotions within you to Forge as you people say. Without the emotions, nothing happens. Sela, your soul, and your feelings are all connected. The easiest way to tap into your sela and touch the Mater without is through your feelings. The more powerful the emotions, the more you can do. But your ability also depends on what you can store. Once spent, time is needed to regain enough essences to Forge. If you use up your sela, you die.”

“And the third requirement?”

“Control. You have to control your emotions in order to command Mater. Within yourself, your sela rests in a calmness called the Shunyata. That is where you must thrust all you feel, and call upon those emotions only when you wish.”

“We call the same thing the Eye of the Storm. I use it in sword training,” Ancel said.

Kachien’s lips pursed before she continued. “My people believe the essences are living things. They seek lives. If you lose dominance of your emotions and give in to your power’s whispers, you will kill and feed them. Once you have chosen to appease the essences with a life, there is no return. You are lost forever like those caught in the thirty-two winds, doomed to kill and kill until the power drives you insane, shrivels your soul and you die.”

“Deathbringers,” Ancel whispered.

Kachien nodded. “In the books of our Formist worship, it is said this is what happened to the Eztezain Guardians of old. They then broke the world. A man or woman who could store, touch, wield Mater and above all force the power to succumb to their will through control can become a Matus. One who cannot is considered born dead. To prevent another culling of the world as is foretold, my people kill any who lack control.”

The thought of such a ruthless way of thinking made Ancel cringe. “But if the essences are alive, and you use Mater to kill, how would you not feed them?”

“You place the whispers from the power and your emotions into the Shunyata. Once trapped there, the essences cannot feed off your kills. This is what some call battle bonding. However, the essences do feed off your sela so you can only hold them trapped for so long before you are forced to release them. If they have fed enough in the Shunyata, you will no longer feel the lust to kill. This is a delicate balance.”

There were subtle differences between what he learned and Kachien’s explanation, but Ancel understood. He tried to reassure her with a smile and squeeze of her hand. “You don’t have to worry about me. Or about someone killing me. We have our own tests, but nothing as brutal as your people. No one is taught how to touch Mater without passing the trials for control.”

“What about those who fail?”

“They become Dagodin. The chance of their power surfacing is sealed away.”