Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

“Shin Irmina, you must rest. Go back to sleep,” commanded a motherly voice tinged with steel.

Irmina didn’t recognize the woman. In her mind, she frowned. No one commands me. She made another attempt to rise to her elbows and tell this person as much. She barely managed to twitch a few fingers and her leg. Nothing more. Helplessness overwhelmed her. Unbidden tears welled up in her eyes, and her mind drifted to Ancel. She wished he was there to help.

“You will be fine, young Shin. I will take good care of you. Rest,” the woman coaxed.

The voice sounded so sincere, so tender, Irmina couldn’t help the contented smile that played across her lips. She obeyed. The brightness outside her eyelids faded.

Irmina woke from another fitful dream. This time, her eyes eased open. Morning sunlight drifted through a window across from where she lay upon a few soft furs. Her wounds no longer ached, and she felt no stiffness. The room smelled of old blood, herbs and mending. The odor reminded her of Galiana’s hospice back in Eldanhill.

Glancing down, she saw she was now dressed in the crimson and gold uniform of a Raijin. Her legs were covered in tight leathers that reached high up her thighs, and a leather skirt split on both sides to give an apron like effect covered her waist and loins. A belt with several divya discs to collect and store Mater kept the skirt in place. Light, elaborately crafted gold and red chainmail hid her breasts, but left her stomach exposed for ease of movement. The same pliant armor-rerebrace on the upper arm and vambrace on the lower, crafted as one with plate mail at the elbow for added protection-covered her arms up to her finger-less leather gloves.

“Ah,” the motherly voice called, “Finally, you wake from your long rest.”

Instinct taking over, Irmina reached for her sword but found nothing.

The voice chuckled. “Your weapon and your Ashishin and Raijin pins are over here. You may take them at your leisure.”

Irmina sat up with a grimace.

Sitting in a chair on the other side of the room was a woman dressed in homespun linen. She was so old she appeared more like one of the ancients or crones from a story. What hair she did have was as white as sun bleached bones and hung in sparse wisps about her wrinkled face. Her bald patches bore speckled brown splotches, some the size of a coin. Her arms were frail things that looked as if they belonged on some featherless bird. Her skin had the appearance of old, cracked leather.

“Who are you?” Irmina asked, eyes narrowing into slits.

“Only the person who saved you, dearest Shin.” The old crone’s words broke into a toothless cackle, her watery white eyes shifting unnaturally.

Irmina fought the apprehension knotting her stomach. “No. Your name,” she said, trying to sound braver than she felt as she studied the woman. Whenever their gazes met, Irmina glanced away. Stop it. Look her in the eye.

“Names are of no importance, but if you must, you can call me Tae.” She flung Irmina’s sword and pins to her with a strength beyond her apparent fragility.

They landed next to Irmina. She eased her hand over until it rested on the comfort of sword’s pommel. Her gaze still locked on the woman, she picked up the weapon and the insignias. Savoring the feel of the hilt against her palm, she stood, belted on the scabbard and stuck the pins to the leather patch woven into the pliant chainmail pauldrons at her shoulder. As she did so, visions from her dreams assaulted her. Each appeared more real than the next. From her office, to the shadelings’ attack, the fight with Jaecar, her Forgings and her flight from Ranoda. Recognition of each grew. They were no mere visions, she realized, they were real. Her head throbbed.

“Where am I?” Irmina massaged her temple through the mass of her dark hair.

“You’re somewhere safe.”

“How long have I been here? And where are my men?”

“Long enough,” Tae said. “As for your men…” Her smile was a dark slit. “They’re dead. They gave their lives for you.”

Irmina stiffened, ice freezing her veins with Tae’s words. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it,” Tae said. “I know you remember. You were dying. So were they. You needed to live. They didn’t. So I did as needed. I fed them to you.”

Irmina’s stomach lurched, and bile rushed up into her mouth in a bitter torrent. Retching, she bent over. No. This woman had to mean something different. Right hand tight around her sword’s hilt, Irmina wiped the acrid taste from her mouth with her left.

When she managed to speak, Irmina’s voice was hoarse and cracked. “Speak so I can understand, woman. How do you mean, you fed them to me?” She opened her Matersense. A tingle of anticipation tugged at her as she prepared to Forge.

Around the room, the essences beckoned. She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her mouth as her sight passed over Tae. A staggering mass of essences gathered about the woman. More than she’d ever seen even around Jerem when he touched the elements.

Tae gave a knowing smirk. “You nor your men didn’t escape. You were allowed to go. A test of sorts to see how well the shade’s weapons worked. You were all poisoned by the shade’s taint. You were either going to die and be used as fodder, or you yourself were going to be transformed into shadelings.”

“Impossible,” Irmina managed to whisper, her voice a disembodied shell of itself. The news of shadeling creation caused the essences she saw around the old woman to shatter into a million pieces as she lost her grip on her Matersense.

“Who’s to say what’s possible? Be that as it may. That’s where you were headed, or into the belly of the beast.”

Somehow, Irmina found a breath despite the lump caught in her throat. “I–If this is true, then h-how did you save me? Why couldn’t you save them?”

“Aha. There lies the question. You needed an infusion of sela essence to drive the taint from your body. It didn’t matter where it came from, as long as you received it. I couldn’t save you all, so I did the most prudent thing. I fed their sela to you.”

“You’re-” Irmina wheezed, before she sitting down flat on the furs, any semblance of reason or coherence fleeing her mind. She clawed for a sense of calm to grasp the elements again, but her dread had a steel grip on her senses.

“A daemon? A Skadwaz? Fear not my dear, I’m neither.”

Irmina could only sit and stare. Finally, she found words. “Then how…?”

“It’s an ancient art.” Tae chuckled. “I would say lost, but that wouldn’t be true would it? Well, as you see, I’m very old.” Tae’s eyes changed colors rapidly from gold to green to white to blue.

Irmina fought against the urge to crawl away, but she couldn’t help cringing as the memory of Sakari’s eyes came to life. Something inside her made her believe Tae. Why would the woman save her only to kill her now? At last, when she found a sense of calm, she asked, “Why has no one used such a skill before?”

Tae arched an eyebrow at her. “You’re presumptuous, aren’t you? Who says no one has? If you could do it, you could live for a thousand years.”

Irmina covered her open mouth with her hand. “You’re speaking about the Tribunal aren’t you? An-And the Eldanhill Council leaders.”

Both of Tae’s eyebrows rose. “Am I?”

“Are you?”

“Infusions of Mater could accomplish the same thing. If you knew how to make people ingest enough. Even those who couldn’t possibly touch the elements.” Tae smiled wickedly, her brown gums failing to come together, leaving a dark hole in her mouth.

Irmina frowned. What could she be hinting at? She’d discovered just how old the members of Eldanhill’s Council and members of the Tribunal were. Some could be traced back at least a millennia according to the records she’d smuggled from among the Pathfinders. How they’d accomplished such a feat was unclear. “Why are you telling me all this?”