Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

“Not wrong, but purposefully misguiding. Do you know how the Eztezians sealed the gods?”

“They used some kind of powerful divyas . There are no real records of the divyas’ creation or their names. At least not that I’ve seen.”

“Well yes, but the divya were people. The Eztezians themselves were the divya.”

Irmina stared in disbelief. “How’s that possible?”

“By use of Etchings. Our gods were created in the Nether, out of the bodies of netherlings by the One God. The netherlings-”

“The same netherlings which were later used to help create the first shadelings?”

“Precisely so. And they never forgave the gods for such misuse, for the destruction of millions of their kind to create the armies of the shade. The gods warred among each other using these forces. Until the netherlings decided to rebel. They used their control over Mater in its most primal state to bestow power comparable to the gods unto the Eztezians. Many of the Eztezians themselves had grown weary of the constant war and the destruction of all they’d grown to love about the worlds. So, they allowed the netherlings to Etch this power into their core. On the very strongest of the Eztezians, the Etchings also included the seals. With surprise on their side, they betrayed their forefathers and trapped the gods in the Nether.”

“How do the Etchings work?”

“No one really knows. There’s no record to be found of exactly what they looked like or what they did. All we know are some of the results. Of course, they were those among the netherlings who didn’t agree because they too reaped benefits from the constant death and destruction of the wars.”

“What could one gain from all that death?”

Bodo raised his brows. “Why sela of course. Forged the right way, sela can be a source of near immortality. I know you’re thinking no one can Forge sela. The truth is, it can be done. But in order to reap the rewards, a living being has to die. The more death, the more sela gained. So for the sake of eternal youth, we became fodder. Bred and raised to die.”

Irmina cringed at the idea of being bred like cattle. “Is that what the Tribunal does and others like yourself to live as long as you do?” Maybe Bodo would give her the answer Taeria wouldn’t.

“The Tribunal, yes. Me, no. There are other, safer ways now.”

“Yes. I stumbled upon one,” Irmina admitted, now convinced of what the Eldanhill Council and Setian’s old leaders did. “Using kinai products to feed the masses then leeching Mater from them to halt aging.” She ached to tell someone, anyone, how she knew. The revelation and the side effects of the process had been her parents’ work. They’d died because they believed it was unjust and wished to expose the Tribunal. The Dorns had issued the execution order. Irmina took a deep breath, forcing the sudden wave of heat deep inside the Eye.

“…simple way to put a complex process, but yes, in short that is how it works,” Bodo finished.

Irmina needed to change the subject. “If the Eztezians aren’t dead, what happened to them?”

“They sealed themselves and hid the memory of their locations. But there was one thing they forgot to account for.”

“What?”

“The Chroniclers.”

“The Great Tomes?”

“No. The Chroniclers. The men and women who wrote the Chronicles within the Great Tomes. The lost descendants of Eztezian and netherling couplings. They decided it was their duty to walk the land and record all past, present and futures. They passed their knowledge down inherently. After thousands of years, their offspring became the Matii we are today. The Ashishin, the Namazzi, the Svenzar, the Alzari, the Skadwaz and others who shall remain nameless.”

Irmina frowned. “So what makes the Chroniclers so important?”

“Well, if you could find the descendants of the Chroniclers, then you could find who now holds the histories. In turn, you could find out where the Eztezians are hidden.”

Everything fell into place for Irmina now. “And by perfecting the Bloodline Affinity, whoever it is among Amuni’s Children now has the upper hand in locating the last Eztezians. Kill them, and they break the seals.”

“Precisely so.”

Something still didn’t make sense to her. “But who has enough power to kill an Eztezian. Not even a High Ashishin could. One of the Exalted, maybe?”

Bodo paced once more. “Several Exalted may stand a chance. It’s more likely all this has been put into play by a netherling.”

“Merciful Ilumni,” Irmina whispered. “A netherling, here in Denestia? But that would mean the seals have weakened enough for them to breach the Kassite and pass into any of the Planes of Existence.”

“That, is just the beginning of the horrors that could be unleashed on our world,” Bodo said, his round faced now haggard and grim. “We don't think the seals have weakened to that point yet, but we believe some netherlings have always been here since the sealing. We don't know how to find them, but as of now, we suspect only the weakest creatures can cross the Kassite as it is attuned to stop the strongest threats.

“However, as the seals continue to weaken, not only will stronger shadelings pass through, but we will face daemons and the Skadwaz themselves. Denestia will fall to a horde of shadelings under their power. Eventually, the seals will be broken, and the gods will come to seek vengeance. So, you see our dilemma. We ourselves need the help of the Eztezians. It’s why Jerem has ordered you to approach this man, Ryne. You need to find a way to have him trust you. Jerem believes this Ryne to be a direct descendant of an Eztezian.”

Ancel shifted his butt around in an attempt to find a more comfortable position in the corner of the old barn, brushing away the offending sprigs of hay that poked at him through his clothes. Kachien, her face a pale imitation of its normal coppery color, lay asleep next to him. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, much better than the shallow breathing she’d suffered from as the night had turned to day and she pointed the way to this abandoned farm and its ramshackle buildings. Now, dusk had come again, but at least this time they’d found shelter. Charra stood guard near the door, his eyes focused out into the night’s encroaching darkness.

Earlier, they’d managed to find an old oil lamp and enough fuel in a metal drum to keep it alight. Mirza, his hair now a faded scarlet, stirred the coals in a fire pit they’d dug after clearing out the hay from the stall he and Danvir occupied. The small fire flared and smoke wafted through the air, finding its way out a nearby window. On a spit, Danvir turned several mutton haunches, their juices sizzling when they touched the glowing coals. The meat’s mouthwatering aroma set Ancel’s stomach grumbling.

Ancel made certain Kachien still rested comfortably before he stood and walked over to his friends. He took a seat next to them on the barn’s earthen floor, the fire’s warmth a welcome comfort.

Danvir nodded toward Kachien. “How’s she doing?”

“Much better. I still don’t think we’ll be able to leave tonight like she wanted.”

Mirza stirred the coals again, kicking up sparks. “As long as we get to eat first, I don’t care. I’ve never much liked this side of the Kelvore River.”

Danvir grunted in agreement. The two of them had kept up a constant vigil since they crossed the river. Although still in Sendeth, Ancel couldn’t blame his friends for their apprehension. They weren’t far from Randane, but this region may as well be unclaimed lands-the result of frequent skirmishes between Dosteri and Sendethi troops.