Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

“And those who touch Mater on their own accord without control?”

“There aren’t any such people among us.” Even as he said those words, Ancel’s brow knitted. Surely, there were those who touched Mater without the use of the Mysteras. Those who never had any training of any kind. Why hadn’t he ever considered the possibility? Although being born with an affinity to Mater was a rare event, how was each person located?

“I see even to you, this does not make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. Kachien, if you cannot sense Mater, why’d they put you through the trials?”

Her eyes became slits. “As I said before. All were forced to take the Trials of Sight. It was the only way to be sure of who was born with the power. Any who tried to leave without taking them were executed. I do not doubt if in secret something similar happens among your people.”

Ancel opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn’t find the words. There were too many questions spinning through his head to which he had no answers.

“Please, Ancel.” Kachien gave his hand a squeeze. “Promise me you will complete whatever training you have undertaken. You have made a special place in my heart. I do not think I can stand another loss.”

Ancel found no ways to resist her pleas even if he wanted to. “I promise.”

“Good,” Kachien said, her entire face brightening. “Now, let us speak of more pleasurable things. Where do you intend to take me today?”

Ancel smiled. “I’ve plans for a tavern with the best Granadian food you’ve ever tasted. There’ll be curried goat, roast piglet, fish basted with a sauce that is both sweet and spicy all at once-”

“Will there be music?”

“Yes. I hired a harper.”

Kachien’s eyes widened. Ancel’s smile broke into a grin. She’d shared how much she enjoyed the music of the harp.

“Come, then,” Kachien said, jumping to her feet. “Let us get dressed and go. This way I can spend much time listening and kissing you while he plays before I return to work tonight.”

Ancel froze in the middle of rising to his feet. His chest tightened with the idea of her work. The idea of other men touching her body.

“Oh, Ancel,” Kachien whispered near his ear. “It is only a job. No one can make me feel as you do.”

Despite her soothing words, a lump of jealousy remained as they made their way to Randane.

Pain pounded in Ryne’s head like an incessant hammer slamming onto an anvil. His eyes fought his attempt to open them. With great effort and a groan, he managed to will the pounding into a dull throb.

Soft leaves cushioned one cheek. What felt like a damp rug stretched under him, and sweltering air greeted him with both fresh and moldy smells. Jungle sounds clamored all around him. From the scratching of some forager, to the rustling branches caused by animals traversing trees, to the howl of a hunting forest lapra, all conspiring to increase the throbbing in his head once more.

He reached a tentative hand to his shoulder. The leather belt for his scabbard was gone. Not that he needed confirmation-the sword was near enough he could still feel it. His eyes fluttered open. He was not surprised when his vision showed he was no longer in the mountains. Great evergreens with smooth trunks and widespread canopies towered over a hundred feet into the air. An occasional beam of morning sun broke through the covering. The Mondros Forest, then.

Ryne sat up among a smattering of leaves. Undergrowth starved for sunlight bunched around him in a tangled, multicolored mass of flowers and choking lantum vines with heart shaped leaves.

Sakari sat on a gigantic root a few feet from him. He now appeared as a typical Western Ostanian with black hair and sunburned skin, his face all sharp angles and planes. He’d resumed a more powerful build with broad shoulders and thick arms, and his faded trousers and cotton shirt matched the trees and forest. What remained of a long dead fire nestled where the trunk and roots met.

“How long did I sleep this time?” Ryne asked.

“You have been in and out for a week.”

Ryne shook his head and shrugged. He’d become accustomed to the unexplained loss of consciousness over the last few years. Whenever he woke, he would have vague memories of dreams during his stupor. Yet, try as he might, he could never grasp those dreams beyond the sight of him shrouded in light.

“You can finish the drink I fed you during your sleep.” Sakari gestured toward a waterskin near the coals. “And I roasted a rabbit.” The animal rested on a smooth stone still spitted.

“Did you eat any?” Ryne smiled at Sakari’s impassive face. When he saw no answer was forthcoming, he stood. The leafy carpet sunk under his feet as he walked over and picked up the waterskin and took a sip. Pleased to see Sakari had kept some kinai juice, he took an even longer drink. He wasted no time in tearing the spongy flesh from the rabbit limb by limb.

When he finished eating, Ryne removed the leather cord from his ebony hair, brushed back loose strands, and retied the string. A quick look at a rustling brush revealed a slim forest lapra with leaves growing from parts of its body, no doubt drawn by the food scents. The lapra dipped its head to one side and slunk among the shrubbery.

“How deep in the Mondros are we?” Ryne asked.

“A few miles. Something about the Nevermore Heights made me uneasy.”

Ryne raised one eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched. “You…had a feeling?” The blank stare he received from Sakari in response almost made him burst into laughter. He shook his head at Sakari’s lack of humor and picked up his sword. A sense of calm passed through him with the feel of the glyphs etched into the hilt. “Is Mariel still following us?”

“No. Not since I set the rockhound after her. Maybe it caught her.” Despite the change in Sakari’s appearance, the same flat monotone laced his words

“Unlikely. She’s been too cautious for an animal so simple.” Ryne unsheathed his greatsword and inspected the blade before placing it back in its scabbard and slinging the leather strap over his shoulder.

“Time to head home?” Sakari asked.

Ryne nodded. With a smooth leap, Sakari hit the ground and took the lead. The ease with which Sakari moved made it appear as if he followed a path carved ahead of them. They avoided the vines and bush, never having to hack their way through.

Questions about Halvor’s words rose within Ryne’s mind. What is it I already know? If I knew who I was, I wouldn’t still be searching. How could the gods march? They were all trapped in the Nether, locked away for millennia by their own power according to the legends. Who is this person who will show me the answers I seek? Could it be Mariel? No, Halvor said, he. His thoughts drifted to the Svenzar’s defeat. Who or what among Amuni’s Children could have been strong enough to defeat the Svenzar?

Ryne shook his head in an effort to clear his thoughts, but they continued to swirl through his mind in a never-ending cycle. His pondering only made his head throb more. Too many years with too few answers weighed on him.

Almost two hours in, Sakari raised his hand. Ryne stopped. Around them, the forest noises dwindled into silence. A branch snapped.

Sakari took off toward the noise. Brown and green darted among the trees ahead of him. Ryne followed.

The colors resolved into a man who slipped among the trees with uncanny speed. His aura matched the forest, pure and clear.

Ryne kept to the path Sakari wove, tree trunks and vines flashing by as they pursued. A forest lapra flanked them with its nose pointed toward the man who fled.

Battle energy surged through Ryne with the chase, and his heart beat faster. His headache faded with the rush. He allowed himself to feel the trees around him. Every obstacle became clear, and he bypassed them all, gaining on the silent man. Something about the man’s movements bothered Ryne, but try as he might he couldn’t discern the source of his discomfort.