Terry Simpson: The Shadowbearer

“Involving that many Forgers in an active battle wouldn’t be worth the risk,” Garrick said with a shake of his head. “At least I don’t think so. Why-”

A scream cut off Garrick’s words. Stefan whipped his head around to peer in the direction of the sound, twisting slightly in his saddle.

In the middle of the encampment a young Ashishin Forger stood with her hands and face raised to the gray skies. Her keening intensified until his ears hurt. The slight breeze rapidly became a gale.

Ragged, tearing sounds followed as canvas, dirt, debris, and fragmented weapons swirled into the air around the woman as if a miniature tornado formed. The wind snatched the pike bearing Dedrick’s head and flung it into the sky. Corpses flew from the ground. Wounded soldiers clung to the closest things at hand, even if it was only brush. When their hold failed or the gale ripped the foliage from the earth, the soldiers screamed as the storm swept them away. Their voices lasted only moments before the wind’s howls drowned them out.

Stefan’s horse whinnied and pranced. Cloak whipping about him, he yanked on his reins as he realized his mount was being drawn inexorably toward the tempest’s center and the lone Ashishin. Pebbles pinged off his armor, and dust stung his eyes. The clouds above rotated to match the wind, forming a gray maelstrom. From its center, the sun shone through to illuminate the Ashishin’s form shrouded within the mass of glinting metal, swirling debris, and bodies.

A man-shaped glint of silver crashed through the vortex to land a step behind the Ashishin. One of the Pathfinders. The soldier’s sword flashed up.

One hand formed into a fist, the Ashishin spun. The silver-armored Pathfinder’s blade took her head in a spurt of blood. In the same motion, he dropped to one knee and stabbed the earth.

As the Ashishin toppled, the storm died. The debris swirling around her fell. Bodies, stone, dirt, wood, and weapons rained to the ground in a deadly deluge. Stefan sucked in a breath as they dropped toward the Pathfinder.

But the man simply kneeled, both hands on his sword hilt. Anything falling toward him spilled to the side without touching him. It appeared as if a small dome had formed two feet above the Pathfinder. Not once did anything strike him. The debris piled until it hid him from view.

The rain of rubble ended, and Pathfinder Kaden stepped forward. “Shin!” he yelled and pointed at the mound of rubble burying his brethren. “Shield.”

Four Ashishin gave nervous bows as they hurried over. Each one took up a position to form a rough box at the four corners of the mound.

“Free yourself, Pathfinder Clarus,” Kaden called from where he stood a few steps beyond the Ashishin.

The mound exploded outwards. Rubble struck invisible walls between each Matii. Clarus staggered to his feet.

“Help him,” Kaden ordered, “and have your fellow Shin take a break until tonight.”

The Ashishin bowed and hurried to Clarus’ side. Kaden wheeled his mount and headed toward Stefan.

The Knight Commander glanced around to check on Garrick and Kasimir. Dust coated their armor and their faces were grimy, but beyond that and their unkempt hair, they seemed no worse for wear. Both Knight Generals peered toward the other Ashishin as if expecting another outburst.

Garrick was the first to turn to Stefan. “This is why they’re not worth the risk in a battle.”

“There would be no risk if your King hadn’t pulled the Alzari.” Pathfinder Kaden reined in next to them. His eyes glittered deep within his helm. “With the amount of wounded here what did you expect?”

“Bah. A few more Astocans dying here or there would have been fine,” Garrick countered. “The blame is partly yours too. If you hadn’t allowed your Matii to Forge for so many hours without rest-”

“Stop it, Garrick,” Stefan commanded. “I asked Kaden to do this. It’s my fault this happened as much as it is the King’s for withdrawing the Alzari.”

Garrick gave a grudging nod and mumbled an apology to Kaden.

Stefan focused on the damage the Matus had inflicted. Not as many bodies as he expected stood out in the rubble. He’d once before seen what happened to a battlefield when a Forger lost control and went insane with no Pathfinder to hold them in check. The results were blood, mangled flesh, and death on an unimaginable scale. He shuddered. If Clarus had been a moment longer, everyone in the vale would have perished. Maybe, I should count us lucky the man reacted when he did. However, he simply couldn’t. The prone forms of the dead Astocans gnawed at him. “Although I blame myself, Kaden, we spoke on this.” Stefan eyed the Pathfinder coolly. “What took so long?”

Kaden shifted in his saddle and gazed at the Ashishin who were heading toward tents clustered near the entrance to the vale. Their Pathfinders escorted them. “That one was stronger than she should have been. Not to mention the elements here have been acting strange. See for yourself.”

Stefan paused for a moment as he considered what Kaden asked. As with any Dagodin like himself or Garrick and Kasimir, he had the ability to see or rather, sense the elements of Mater and their essences. However, he was unable to manipulate them-to Forge. A deficiency he was thankful for, but what he witnessed moments before still made him uncertain. Suppose the voices that haunted Mater, those he’d heard at one time during his training all those years ago, surfaced? What if he failed to resist their temptation?

“I can assure you, Knight Commander, that in all my years as a Pathfinder, traveling with various Matii, I have yet to see a Dagodin fall to the madness.” Kaden’s voice was filled with certainty, and not once did he blink.

Stefan sucked in several breaths, and then opened his Matersense. Power swirled in bands representing the three elements of Mater. Inside those bands, the individual essences within each element stood out in a myriad of colors. They existed in everything, from the ones he recognized to those he could not discern. They twisted, stretched, and congealed in a chaotic mass.

Many hues of blue and transparencies represented water and air essences contained within the liquid element of Flows. They threaded upon the breeze, the coolness of which promised rain. Within the murky blanket above, they coiled.

Among the fields, the sheer rock faces, and the forested slopes of the Sang Reaches the tiny differences in browns, greens, and metallic glints stood out. Those displayed earth, wood, and metal essences within the solids that were the element of Forms.

The sun’s glow peeked through a crack in the clouds. Gold and white brightened the sky for the briefest moment. Darkness wavered in and out of view among the shadows. The humidity from the day still hung in reddish orange. Those hues and bands represented light, shade, and heat essences-all belonging to the energy from within the element of Streams.

As he took in the wonder of his Matersense, Stefan became aware of what Kaden meant. There was an overflow of power among the essences. It was almost too much to bear-as if they reached for him, swirled within his head, his sight and sucked at him. With a gasp, he released his sense.

“What you saw there, we can feel a hundredfold,” Kaden said.

Stefan took a moment to ease his heavy breathing. When his heart calmed, he asked, “If it’s that bad, why did you still allow your Ashishin to go on for so long?”

“We have seen the like before and were able to work around the influence of Mater by rotating menders and extending the time between each Forge.” Kaden stared toward the body of the dead Shin. A Devout priest gathered the head to the corpse and bowed in prayer.

“So what happened?”