Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

A kinai orchard spread as far as Ryne could see. What looked like red spider webs covered the ground. Fungus engulfed the trees so dense in some parts it hung like thick, mottled beards.

A choked sound uttered from Irmina, and her hand covered her mouth. “Oh, Ilumni.”

Every kinai plant was dead. Some fruit appeared half-eaten or simply squashed. Shade clogged the other elements within the plants. The air itself appeared dim. At their core, most trees lacked their sela.

Ryne’s thoughts raced. Heat crawled along his skin and not only did his Scripts roil, but his bloodlust tried to rise. After a moment, the feeling passed. Something squeezed Ryne’s hand, and he looked down. Irmina’s clammy fingers clung to his. She caught herself and released her grip.

“Did you see what did this?” Ryne asked.

Garon nodded. “Follow me.”

The tall Setian edged around the dead orchard with Edsel hobbling after him.

As Ryne turned to follow, clumps of shade among the dead kinai drew his attention. He squinted. Wraithwolf droppings. Ryne signaled to Sakari who nodded, then the two of them hurried to join the others with a pale-faced Irmina in tow.

“I wasn’t here when this first happened,” Garon said when they caught up. “The daggerpaws picked up on them. My father sent a team out, and they found this.” He stopped at an unusually dense thicket with ashy, motionless leaves and black trunks.

Ryne recognized the way the trees appeared as the same as those he’d found in the Fretian Woods when he discovered the missing villagers. The essences within the trees were smudged the same as he remembered from Carnas and the kinai orchards at the Astocan farms.

Irmina gasped. “Wraithwoods. How’s this possible?” Her trembling voice was a barely audible whisper.

The name itched with familiarity to Ryne. But he couldn’t conjure the memory of where he heard it before.

“That’s not all.” Garon brought his hand up, and his brow furrowed.

Light essences swept up into the man. His hands moved with a circular motion, and he pushed the Forging out. A swath of light cut into the wraithwoods, and the trees released a soft, whispering wail as if spirits sighed through the forest.

Ryne frowned at what Garon had done, then it clicked. The man’s golden eyes, his unusually strong aura, and now this. Garon was a Setian Ashishin.

Garon stepped forward into the path he cut into the wraithwoods with Ryne and the others following. The ground and trees around them smoked, filling the air with the smell of burning wood. Heat rose in waves from the earth, warm even through Ryne’s boots. Charred stumps were all that remained of some trees; the rest were ash rising on the wind. Ryne anticipated a reaction from Irmina, but she seemed too stunned to think.

Within the thicket another scent consumed the air. A choking stink like old corpses left out on a battlefield. The others coughed at the stench and held their hands over their mouths and noses. Ryne breathed through his mouth to lessen the putrid smell as he eyed the jumbled fleshy mess in the thicket. His bloodlust rose screaming, and his Scripts squirmed about his skin.

Bodies of Setian men and women lay on the dark, soggy ground. Maggots crawled from their flesh, and black fluid seeped from their wounds. But their chests rose and fell in a slow rhythm. Black tendrils connected them together. Close to them lay half-formed wraithwolves.

Retching, Irmina turned away, spewing the contents of her stomach.

Ryne folded his mouth in against the urge to inhale. “Not only have the shadelings left the Broken Lands, bypassed the wards in the Rotted Forest, but they’ve also breached the Vallum of Light.”

“T-That’s…not…possible.” Irmina said. If she was pale before, her face was now a sickly white.

Ryne gestured to encompass the area around them. “It shouldn’t be, but the proof lies before us. Worse yet is what could have extracted sela from the kinai.”

“Now you know why I said there’s something you must see,” Edsel explained. “They’re few things I know of that can harvest sela.”

“You’re speaking of daemons aren’t you?” Irmina blurted out. “How?” she added at Ryne’s nod.

Spreading his hands helplessly, Ryne said, “I don’t know.” His Scripts roiled again. As at the other wraithwoods, he knew there was only one thing to do. “I need you all to leave here.”

“But-” Garon began.

“Leave now,” Ryne ordered without raising his voice.

Sakari stepped in between everyone and Ryne.

Edsel took Garon by the arm. “Do as the Lightbringer says.”

“You too,” Ryne said, without looking at Irmina. His Scripts continued to flit and shift around him, responding to the shade.

Irmina said nothing. Her face finally regaining some semblance of color, she left with the others. Sakari followed her.

Ryne studied the wraithwoods. He didn’t understand how the shadelings could’ve reached this side of the Vallum. Not to mention that they were advancing at a far faster rate than he could have imagined. However they were managing the feat, it didn’t matter. They had to be stopped. And soon.

Where Garon’s power had struck, the wraithwoods were already growing again, blocking outside influences of light. Ryne touched his Scripts, drawing on the ones depicting the sun and the twin moons. Light and fire essences rushed into him. The voices skittered through his mind, but he brushed them aside, and unsheathed his sword. The essences spread within him like flames through dry brush. He pushed them into the weapon, and it burst alight with a soft, white glow.

Around him, the shade-filled leaves wilted. The grass beneath his feet disintegrated into smoking ash. Skin peeled from the bodies of the Setian and wraithwolves alike, and the stench of burnt flesh and hair replaced the reek of decay. The trees themselves seemed to shrink back from the light. He bent and slammed the sword into the earth. Still holding the hilt, he linked with the earth and sent the light and fire through it. A breath left his lips, and at the same time, he triggered the power his sword held.

A noiseless concussion shook the trees. Light swept around him in an incandescent pillar that spread rapidly with him at its center. The Forms and Streams mingled in the earth and carried the Forging to its purpose.

Shade shattered.

The wraithwoods, the bodies, and the shadelings crumpled and turned to ash. Air rose as wind and took the ashes with it. The pillar of Light shot up into the air.

A clear, circular area, devoid of vegetation with Ryne at its center and steam rising in a dreary mist, replaced the wraithwoods. Ryne’s sword winked out. In one motion, he pulled it from the earth and sheathed the weapon. As he released his Matersense, he took several deep breaths to steady himself, and strode from the trees toward the others.

Irmina gawked. Edsel and Garon’s eyes shone with reverence as they regarded Ryne. They both bowed. Sakari regarded him with a blank expression.

“Are there anymore wraithwood manifestations?” Ryne asked.

“Yes, three more, across the valley to the east,” Garon said as he led them from the forest toward their mounts. “I can have the scouts lead us there-”

“No. I can find them on my own. You need to get to your people now. Head to the Vallum. It’ll be the safest place for you.”

“Our homes are in the mountains, right next to the Vallum,” Edsel said, a hint of pride in his voice as they reached the dartans.

Irmina’s head snapped around to the man.

Edsel shrugged and a smile played across his lips. “There’s no safer place than under the noses of your worst enemy. It’s the last place they would expect. What’s your plan, Lightbringer?”