Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

“No.” Sakari’s eyes were dead pits of silver and green.

Ryne quivered, his hands balling into fists against the sudden urge to stab Sakari. It would be pointless. Sakari acted no different now than the first day Ryne woke to his unflappable and expressionless face. Whether during the wars or the many killings they were party to over the years, the man had never showed a single emotion. Why should I expect anything different? With a great whoosh of breath, Ryne let his half-drawn great sword slide back into the scabbard.

“Look around you. And not with only your eyes,” Sakari said.

Ryne reached out to his Scripts.

“No. You do not need those or Mater right now. Think. What if there are as many wraithwolves as Jaecar said? What if they are still close by?”

He’s right. How could I let myself become so overwrought that I almost made such a mistake? Relying instead on his innate talent to see the auras around Carnas, Ryne studied his surroundings. Blue and red orchid blooms covered the plains in clusters, their stalks swaying to the warm southerly wind. Unnoticed before, but now prevalent, was a faint whiff of char. The occasional tree and large thorn brush broke up the expanse of flowers on the rolling landscape all the way to the foothills in the distance, their shadows beginning to elongate with the rising twilight. As Sakari had said, Mariel no longer followed them, but something else was not quite right. Ryne couldn’t grasp it, but it hung like a dark shroud at the edge of his consciousness. His eyes narrowed.

“Do you see now?” Sakari whispered.

Ryne nodded. “There aren’t any animals. No plains lapras, no brown-furred holehogs, no stray dogs. No pheasants or other game birds. I don’t even sense the vermin. Worst of all there aren’t any crows and ravens. At least they would keep the dead company.”

Ryne’s gaze drifted across the land, but he saw no aura that could be a wraithwolf. Sure he was safe from detection, he finally opened his Matersense.

Immediately, his bloodlust surged within him, burning with intense fire, screaming for release. The feeling threatened to overthrow his dominance. Arms trembling with effort, teeth grinding, he forced the emotion and the voices down into his gut until they became nothing more than a whimper. As he grasped control, his sight expanded.

Everything around him intensified. Colors became deeper, auras more vivid, and the very air felt as if he could mold it to his will. Yet, the Mater close to him was all wrong. Usually the elements felt and looked as if they were etched into the air with razor-sharp edges. Now, those lines appeared dulled like an artist’s drawing with smudged borders. Ryne shook off the distorted image, focusing on Hagan’s corpse. A low gasp escaped his lips.

Shade’s taint boiled within the innkeeper’s body akin to a roiling black ant’s nest. The black and gray hues of the essence poured from his open mouth, nose, and ears. It riddled the massive wounds on his body. Recoiling at what he saw next, Ryne lost his hold on his Matersense.

“He has no life force-no sela.” Ryne’s mouth hung open, his voice becoming a barely audible whisper. “Even in death the essence should be there.”

“Exactly,” Sakari confirmed. “Life and death cannot be separated. Something ate Hagan in more ways than one.”

“A daemon?” Ryne’s forehead wrinkled.

Sakari shrugged. “Perhaps. If there were as many shadelings as Jaecar mentioned, then we should consider that a possibility. We must be cautious.”

“But that would mean there has to be a Skadwaz to unleash and control the creature.” Ryne’s hand slid to his sword, wary gaze flitting to the shadowy areas on the plains.

Sakari nodded.

Ryne shook his head in disbelief. “How’s that possible if they were trapped in Hydae a thousand years ago?”

“If we listened to every legend then you are dead or just a myth. And shadelings and daemons too. Yet, we know they exist, as we know you live. Unless someone else has learned how to harness daemons, we must assume the worst.”

Ryne closed his eyes and allowed his friend’s words to sink in. Events were rapidly spiraling beyond anything he imagined. When he opened them again, he unsheathed his sword. A quick stroke removed Hagan’s head.

Amuni’s Children, shadelings, and now daemons and the Skadwaz. He could see how the Svenzar could have been defeated. But it still begged the question. If the Children ran with daemons during the Remnants, if a Skadwaz worked behind the scenes, why wait until now? Why not unleash their power with the Setian people during the Shadowbearer War? Nothing the Children had done made sense to him. No matter how he viewed the puzzle, the answer eluded him.

He motioned for Sakari to lead, and they eased away from the corpse, staying low, moving from bush to rough grass. Along the way, they encountered several other bodies. These too lacked signs of a defensive fight, and all were scouts they recognized. Every corpse was mangled, and each one crawled with shade and had its sela essence drained. Ryne cut off their heads.

They continued toward the village, first crouching, then dropping flat on their stomachs and crawling through short grass until they lay below a small dip in the land behind some thick fescue. Using the brush for cover, they studied the village.

The wooden wall surrounding Carnas was broken in several places. Squat buildings huddled together along the main road with a few roofs hanging at precarious angles or caved in altogether, burnt timbers and broken beams unable to support them. Those buildings not burned were left in shambles.

“I shall venture for a closer look and make sure the way is safe,” Sakari said.

Before Ryne could reply, the man was sliding into the surrounding brush. With a shake of his head, Ryne watched. He didn’t need his friend’s protection, but Sakari insisted. Long ago, Ryne had abandoned his attempts to tell the man he was not his personal bodyguard.

While he waited, Ryne immersed himself in the sights treasured by many who lived on the Orchid Plains. Distended gray clouds reflected the setting sun’s tenuous glow in purple and orange, the light brushing the plains like an artful masterpiece. To the south, out of sight at the end of the plains’ thousand mile stretch sat the Misted Cliffs and beyond, the Sea of Clouds. He once promised to take the children and the sisters to visit the sea. The trip might never happen now.

Sakari returned before the clouds crossed more than a few feet across the sky. “The village is clear.”

“Have you seen anyone alive? Kahkon, Taeria, Vana, Vera?”

Sakari shook his head.

“Corpses?” Even as he asked the question, a lump crawled into Ryne’s chest.

“Yes, a few to the east and south. All the same way as the others we found, but none were those you asked about.”

A sliver of hope eased through Ryne. Maybe Bertram had managed to get the others away.

“The scouts and hunters I found all died before they could react,” Sakari said.

The words drew prickles across Ryne’s skin as he remembered the golden-haired woman had moved without any of the others seeing her. After scanning his surroundings with utmost care, he motioned for Sakari to lead the way.

They stood and trotted toward Carnas. Ever vigilant, searching for the slightest movements that might signify life, Ryne fingered his sword. They found nothing but the dead. Two more corpses they passed were blackened by flames, but Ryne recognized them still-Dren and Keevo. Both bodies contained no sela. Saying a brief prayer to Ilumni, he also took their heads.

After circling the village, they approached Ryne’s home first. The structure had been razed, so they continued moving. They headed toward Taeria’s home next. Along the way, any buildings still intact displayed broken doorframes or windows with doors and shutters hanging askew, creaking in the wind. Inside the mender’s house, they found dried blood, old bandages, and the ransacked contents of the healing room. Of Taeria and Kahkon, there was no sign.