Terry Simpson - The Shadowbearer

“What do you mean?”

“Streamean worship, of course.” Nerian pointed toward the towering statues of Ilumni and the other gods at the temples in Benez. “With their Devout priests and priestesses, the Tribunal has accomplished what no army could. They have subverted the rule of the Ostanian kingdoms with their promises of unity of the gods, harmony between the three religions, and equality between men and women.” Nerian spat. “They tout compulsory education and universal language as if we are semi-intelligent beasts. Through the knowledge they garnered from the Chronicles, they lead people to think the gods reveal their will through the Devout. The fact every one of the priests is also a mender only helps to make that more believable. Look around you some time. Their influence is rampant. Despite their promise of unity, which god do most of us pray to? Ilumni. When something ill happens, to whom do we direct our curses, our blasphemy?” Nerian turned to meet Stefan’s gaze, letting the answer hang.

Amuni, Stefan thought, but kept silent.

“I see you begin to understand,” Nerian said.

“You might be right, but they also brought stability with them. Denestia has thrived from a world wreathed in war to one more prosperous. Take Granadia for example. When was the last time you heard of a major war there? They have small conflicts, sure, but nothing on a scale like we do.”

“Because the Tribunal rule their own as we should. Absolutely.”

Stefan shook his head. “Let’s say this is true, that the Tribunal does intend to rule all of Denestia. How would you begin to stop them?”

The faraway expression clouded the King’s face once more. “A concentration of Mater exists in the Great Divide. It must be why the Erastonians guard it so rabidly. I will have that power even if it means defeating the Erastonians themselves. Not that I would need much excuse to fight them. Their inability to prevent shadelings emerging from the Divide has led to enough damage to other lands. The time has come for someone else to take on the responsibility.” Nerian’s gaze shifted to Stefan. “You saw how powerful a few shadelings can be. Imagine if we managed to harness their power without the taint attached. We would not only complete a conquest of all Ostania but Granadia as well.”

Creeping, cold fingers eased down Stefan’s spine. The King had lost his senses. To dream of controlling Mater? The power legend said the gods created? One that had turned mountains into flatlands, forests into plains, seas into deserts, created the Vallum of Light and the Great Divide itself? The power existing within everything, but as the madness that eventually took all Matii who wielded it proved, was unstable at best and needed to be handled with extreme caution? Either the King’s ascent was corrupting him or he was going mad. Stefan had heard the voices inhabiting the essences as they whispered their malevolence in his days of training to become a Dagodin. He cringed. Could such an ailment be afflicting the King?

“I see that look in your eyes, son.” A smile on his lips, Nerian shook his head. “I am not insane. And yes, I believe a way exists to completely control Mater. The Pathfinders are a perfect example. They may not have full control yet, but they are more powerful than almost any other Matii. The answers lie in the Great Divide. I am certain of it. Why else would the Tribunal seek to bring Ostania under their rule?”

“How are you so sure conquering Mater is their intention?”

“Come now. You witnessed what happened when their Ashishin handled unstable elements. Imagine the possibilities if a way existed to prevent such a thing from happening.”

A world in chaos, Stefan thought, as he pictured Forgers abusing their power without its limitations. Then his eyes widened. “So you did know,” he exclaimed, staring at Nerian in disbelief. “And you withdrew our Alzari without warning me.”

“You would have tried to mend those Astocans anyway.”

Stefan frowned. “Who told you I did?”

“I have my ways. Remember when you were young and you and Kasimir stole kinai fruit from that merchant?”

Brow wrinkling, Stefan recalled the time vividly. He and Kasimir had waited until Master Sena placed the sweet, fist-sized, red fruit in his warehouse before using the hole they’d dug the night before to crawl in and gorge themselves. Before they could leave, Nerian called to them, stepping out from the dark. The King had kept it quiet, but he’d put a whipping on the two of them they’d never forget. For weeks after, they both found it difficult to sit. Involuntarily, Stefan’s hand reached toward his butt. “Yes,” he said. “Garrick told on us then. Did he … is he-”

“No, he did not and is not. I asked and he refused me.” Nerian gave him a wry smile. “Do not worry yourself, but what happened at the Sang Reaches was confirmation of things I expected. I was already aware of much of the Tribunal’s plans.”

Stefan’s mouth fell open. “A spy within their ranks? Not just anyone, at least a High Shin.” Stefan’s brows climbed his forehead. “Galiana,” he whispered. Another knowing smirk from Nerian was all the confirmation he needed.

“Don’t look at me that way,” Nerian admonished. “She volunteered for the task. Besides, the Tribunal has been spying on us this entire time. I cannot trust any of their Matii.”

“Despite all the years they helped in our battle against the shadelings?”

“Do not be naive,” Nerian chided. “We use who we must as they do us. Alone, we could never muster enough Matii or weapons to fight the shade’s last invasion, but together, a united Ostania did. In taking credit for bringing us together, the Tribunal gained their hold in Ostania.”

“And we’re united now, aren’t we,” Stefan said, finally understanding some of the purpose of his last few years of service. “On our own.” He couldn’t bear to look at Nerian with the knowledge of how the King used him.

“Not quite,” Nerian said. “But we are close, oh so close.” His voice gained a sudden fervor. “Don’t you see? We are stronger now. We no longer need to rely on the Tribunal to defend us. We can protect ourselves. Eventually, we can chase them back across the sea where they belong. Ostania can once again be whole.”

Stefan regarded the man he once held in such high esteem. “What then?”

King Nerian chuckled. “After that my son, the world is ours.”

“A dream, sire. You’re living a dream. I guess the Granadians will simply bend knee and let you claim their lands. Their Matii will no longer fight for their cause but for ours instead.” Stefan made no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

“That my son is the beauty of it all. Come.”

His body tense, Stefan followed at the King’s heels.

Nerian strode with purpose, head held high. He stopped at the edge of the battlements. “There, this is why I needed you to come home.” The King pointed out to the fields beyond the eastern walls.

An army numbering in the tens of thousands, no, hundreds of thousands covered the plains. The Quaking Forest of Setian flew from every battle standard. The absence of flags displaying lightning bolts striking in front of the sun was more than a little disconcerting. That absence, the lack of the Tribunal’s Lightstorm, was a stark revelation of the King’s intention.

“What-”

“Matii,” the King declared. “Our own.”

Stefan stared dumbly at the mass of bodies below. The green with crimson sleeves represented Dagodin, and from the unnatural gleam of their swords and spears, they wielded divya. How had the King found enough Matii to imbue so many weapons? Next to them he counted several legions in green and gold tunics and pants-Alzari. “How did you find so many Forgers?”