“This is hopeless,” Maiya said. “These records aren’t even close to the quality of the Kin’jal intelligence reports. Just superstition and exaggeration. This one journal by this demon researcher’s the best of the bunch, and it just goes on about communing with ‘the seven spirits.’”
“There’s a lot of information on the monsters we might find and some on which flora can be eaten safely, but nothing in the way of the lay of the land. It’s so frustrating. Not one mentions a safe path through.”
Only a few tomes mentioned potential water sources, yet those were more like hopeful speculation than anything concrete.
“That is because such a route does not exist,” a deep, growling voice thundered from behind them, causing them both to spin around.
A tall gray demon dressed in an ornate jade robe that nearly touched the ground loomed above them. Not quite a giant, but two heads taller than even Riyan. His most striking aspect, however, was his enormous white beard, well groomed and dressed, that reached nearly to his waist. His eyebrows and long hair were similarly white, with his hair being tied back into a ponytail.
He glared at them with the same piercing red eyes Vir had, but when he spied Vir, his expression softened, and his posture slackened. Where before he had the aura of a fierce warrior, now he looked like a stern uncle.
“A gray demon? Quite rare indeed. What brings you to my library?”
“Sir,” Vir said, subconsciously treating the demon with deference, “I… need to cross the Ashen Realm.”
Vir flushed even before he’d finished his sentence. The librarian’s long, silent regard only made it worse.
This was dumb. He’ll think I’m crazy.
“Then you have come to the right place. I am Amarat. Some call me Amarat the Immortal. Immortal because I once braved the Ash and returned to tell the tale.”
“You’ve been through the Ash…” Vir breathed in disbelief. “And you survived?”
“Now that is a tale indeed. I would not wish that place upon my worst enemy. Though it was decades ago, the nightmares still plague my dreams. Only fools dare venture there.”
“If there’s any way, then I must,” Vir said. There was fear in his voice. Fear and determination. Just a few hours ago, he’d decided to remain with the Order, to aid their cause. But now it wasn’t so simple. Lives were at stake.
Even if he made peace with that, Vir was merely delaying the inevitable. One day, he would find his way to the Ash. Janak’s words would continue to gnaw at him, if Ekanai didn’t force him first.
To Vir’s surprise, exploring the viability of venturing through the blighted realm brought on a sense of relief. Like a great weight had been lifted.
Like the weight of expectation. It was an errant thought, gone in an instant. But there was something there. A deep-seated fear, and not only of Ekanai.
Vir recalled how Reth, Disanna, and even Zora had looked at him once he’d divulged his tale.
Awe. Reverence.
It was how he imagined most demons would react. Those who were aware of that oral tale, anyway.
They weren’t just looking for a warrior. They were looking for a champion. For the being from their legends. The Primordial.
What would that mean for Vir? What would it entail?
He didn’t know, but the notion terrified him. He couldn’t say why.
“There is a way through that infernal realm,” Amarat said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Will you tell me?” Vir asked. He still couldn’t say which path he’d choose in the end—but perhaps Amarat’s words would guide him.
“Oh yes, I shall tell you. And then we can discuss the dozen ways you will die before ever reaching it.”
52TO CROSS THE ASH
“How did you survive?” Vir asked.
“I nearly did not,” Amarat said, taking a seat across from them. The custodian leaned back, rested a bony elbow on the table, and narrated his tale, his eyes wandering to a distant memory. “A century and a half ago, I joined a Kin’jal expeditionary force. Times were desperate, and the promise of freedom too tempting. I knew the risks. Least, I thought I did. Call it the brashness of youth.”
A century and a half? Vir thought in surprise. He’d known that demons lived longer than humans, but Amarat looked to be in his sixties. Just how old is he?
“What happened?” Vir asked.
“The force composed of mejai and Balarian Warriors was tasked with mapping the Ashen Realm near the Ash Boundary. For future missions.”
“Wait, I remember reading about this,” Maiya said, prompting the elderly demon to raise a brow. “There were no survivors.”
Amarat chuckled. “You are privy to some very secret Kin’jal information, girl. Yes, that was likely the expedition I was in. They thought to take a demon along to see how I’d fare. I fared well enough, I suppose.”
“You never reported back to them after?” Vir asked.
“I owed the Kin’jals nothing. Less than nothing, in fact—I was a slave. It became quite clear to me soon after entering that they’d knowingly sent us on a suicide mission. We had no Mejai of Realms. No mejai worth anything. Just Mejai Sorcar. The rest were Balarian Warriors, and none very strong. Perhaps they thought to send disposable scouts through, on the off-chance they might strike gold.”
“That’s… exactly what the mission was for,” Maiya said softly, averting her eyes. “It said so in the notes.”
“I see. Then I must thank you for confirming suspicions I’ve held for half my life, girl,” Amarat said, stroking his long beard, looking wistfully into the distance. “No matter. Most succumbed immediately to prana poisoning. I’ll not subject you to the details. Suffice it to say, it’s a miserable way to go. Were I not dealing with the poisoning myself, I might’ve fainted at the gruesome sight.”
“Yet you survived,” Vir stated.
“Hardly. When we think of thick prana, we think of magic. Of vitality and strength. When one visits Kin’jal, one feels empowered, being so close to the Ash. But too much of a good thing is lethal in its own right. The prana in the Ashen Realm isn’t merely thick. It suffocates. The sheer force of that magical energy rips your body apart, seeking equilibrium.”
Vir exchanged a knowing glance with Maiya. If the density was far higher there, it made sense Ash prana would try to worm its way into the body of those coming from a less dense region.
“I could not even walk, such was the pressure. Relegated to my knees, I crawled as I bled from my very pores. The others might’ve had it easier, perishing relatively quickly. Not I. My agony lasted for hours.”
“Why didn’t you just turn around?” Maiya asked. “I always wondered about that. Enough high-ranking mejai make it back that it seems possible. Yet I’ve never found a record of why the others don’t just abort their mission at the first sign of trouble.”
Amarat laughed. “It seems the Kin’jal have scrubbed certain details from their records. I cannot imagine those survivors would all have omitted such.”
“What details?” Vir asked.
“There is no Ash Boundary on the other side,” the demon said, scoffing. “If only there were. Do not make the mistake of assuming the Ash operates under the same rules as the Known World. It does not. There is no night or day there. It is a place of continuous twilight where Ash falls eternally, from gods-know where. The Ash Boundary that cuts across our world like a scar is nowhere to be seen.”
“That’s… so there’s no way back?”
“No reliable way, no. You can imagine our panic when we arrived there. As far as I can tell, Ash Gates—or Ash Tears, as the unstable ones are called—open and close at random. Some lead deeper into the Ash while others may spit you into an abyss. A precious few lead back to the human realm. I simply happened upon a gate that led back to safety. It was a one in a million chance.”