Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

“Because one day soon, my dear Shin, you will need to use this knowledge to save many lives.”

“When? What can I do against Matii who are practically immortal.”

Tae chortled, a carefree rasp of a sound of someone trying to hide amusement but failing. “Dear, dear one.” She shook her head, her mouth split again in a morbid grin. “No one is immortal. Hard to kill? Yes. Immortal? No.” She chortled again. “Relieve a person of their head or their heart. No one can survive that. Destroying their brain works just as well too.” She subsided to a low chuckle before she cut off.

Irmina’s expression soured. “If it’s so simple why don’t you do it? Why tell me?”

“Because my part in this is done for now. As for you, you’re special as you well know. As your parents and much of your lineage were before you. It’s why the shade sought them out.”

Irmina trembled with the mention of her parents in the same breath as the shade. Her anger lent her strength. “What do you know of them?” she spat. “They walked in the Ilumni’s light and were murdered to hide the Tribunal’s secrets.”

Tae shrugged. “I know much. However, I’m not allowed to involve myself further than the message I need you to deliver.”

“What message?”

Tae’s eyes and voice became grim. “You must repeat my message exactly as I will tell you.”

Taken aback by the intense expression on the old woman’s face, Irmina offered a nod.

“Tell Jerem one among Amuni’s Children not only can use, but has perfected the Bloodline Affinity. Tell him they’ve taken Kahkon.”

“Gods be good,” Irmina whispered. For the second time, she found her mouth agape. Not just because this woman knew her master, but because the Bloodline Affinity was a powerful Forging used by Pathfinders to track those they sought. Once triggered, they could retrace not only a person’s entire lineage but also any living kin.

But no one had ever mastered it.

Just to use such a skill, the person would need to be at least as strong as a High Ashishin. To master the ability would require someone stronger. The thought of one so powerful among Amuni’s Children chilled her to her core.

“I see you understand what this means.”

Dumbfounded, Irmina nodded.

“Good. I would expect nothing less from one of Jerem’s students.” Tae tilted her head to one side. Her eyes slipped through their many changes before focusing on something Irmina couldn’t see. Tae cleared her throat in annoyance. “They’ve brought one who can sense me. It’s time you leave.”

In desperation, Irmina pleaded, “Please, no. Not yet. Tell me what you know of my family.”

“That is not for me to tell.”

“Then why mention them?” Irmina’s voice was shrill. “Why tell me this now? Why not inform the Tribunal or some High Ashishin? If they’re those among Amuni’s Children as strong as you say, who know the secrets of the Bloodline, who can transform people into shadelings, why did they wait until now?”

“Harmony, my dear. There hasn’t been enough power, enough Mater, in Denestia, or in any of the realms to begin such an undertaking. Not since the gods were sealed in the Nether thousands of years ago.”

“And now there is?”

“See? You’re catching on.”

“How come?”

“Ah, my dear. That’s where I have to draw the line without breaking the rules. It’s time to go. Don’t worry, the shade won’t find you. I’ll scatter your scent to the thirty-two winds. Ride for the Vallum of Light. And avoid the Bastions. You wouldn’t want to draw the attention of the Pathfinders while you’re on this side of the wall. Oh, one more thing. Tell Jerem we’re even.”

With those words, Irmina’s world swirled and went black. Before she could react, a sensation came as if a great wind snatched her and threw her from a mountaintop. Heart racing, an unreleased scream stuck in her throat, her stomach attempting to spew its contents, she fell.

And lurched to a head-snapping stop. Black became light. Light slowly evolved into the world once more. When she came to her senses, she was unsure of her location.

Far off, a speck in the distance, a bright line sparkled and followed the land along the horizon. She knew that line. The Vallum. Attached to the wall and rising into the air another hundred feet was one of the Bastions of Light.

Ancel kicked at a rat crawling across his filthy boots. Boots he’d taken from a dead soldier. The rodent’s squeal joined the multitude of squeaks around him. He didn’t need to look hard to see the numerous rats, some almost as big as man’s thigh, that scurried along the sewer tunnel. Covering his nose and mouth against the overwhelming stench of shit, sludge, mud, and only the Pits of Hydae knew what else, that clung to his boots and pants almost to his waist was futile. The air stank worse than a week old corpse. Breathing served to have the odor become a foul taste.

They had made good their escape through the canals and into the extensive drainage system under Randane. Dodged patrols, loud footsteps, shushed breaths, shadowy hiding places, and incessant bell tolls filled their flight. When they couldn’t escape a patrol’s path, Kachien commanded them to stand still wherever they hid, often around the corner in some alley and against a building. Tense moments edged on achingly as the soldiers would run by, passing them as if they were not standing in plain sight.

Mirza and Danvir huddled nearby, their forms silhouetted against the light provided by the tunnel’s opening. Outside, the rain fell in glinting sheets, and lightning crackled across the dark quilt of clouds covering the heavens and blotting out any signs of the morning sun. Separating the three of them from Kachien was a knee-deep flow of filth. At all times, Charra kept himself between Ancel and her.

There had been no chance to speak during their escape, and in fact, this was their first respite. Still, Ancel refused to talk to the woman. Not that he didn’t want to, but whereas his Kachien had been a tender, breathtaking, seductive flower with more than a touch of flame, this woman, this killer, was as hard as silversteel and colder than the Kelvore Mountains’ highest peak.

Six times on their way here, she’d slunk off to kill a patrolling regimental guard. Each time, she returned impassive and wordless. Not once did she shy away from Ancel’s accusatory gaze. He found it was he who broke contact whenever their eyes made four. How can you possibly be the same woman who shared your fears and tears with me?

“What’ve we done? What’ve we done? Gods be good, what’ve we done?” Danvir muttered.

“Survived,” Mirza answered, his voice thick.

“No.” Danvir trembled. “We killed men. Merchant’s guards. Do you know what that means? We murdered them.”

“It means you saved my life and probably Ancel’s too. The guard was going to run me through if you and Charra hadn’t interfered.” Mirza’s gaze shifted to Kachien for a brief moment. He sounded steadier by a hair than Ancel felt until his voice cracked. “A-And without her, the rest of them would’ve finished us. I–I thought I was dead for sure.” His eyes shone with wetness in the dim light. He scrubbed at his face.

“What happened up there?” Ancel gestured outside with a nod, rubbing at his folded arms as he thought about what he heard and saw. “All I remember is them hitting me, then Charra’s growls and the sound of fighting.”

“You resisted and they beat you.” Mirza’s voice regained some of its normal smoothness. “Then one sliced at me just as Danvir and Charra leaped on him. Your woman showed up then. And well, you saw the results.”