“The Exalted will see you now.”
Legs wooden, the stone floor seemingly miles beneath her feet, Irmina bowed and approached the door. A near blinding luminescence filled the room beyond. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the opening and into the light. The door swung shut behind her with a soft click.
“Irmina Nagel,” a disembodied voice said from all around her.
Irmina paused. Compared to outside, which was practically devoid of scent, the Exalted’s room reeked. The pungent odor reminded her of decomposition, festering wounds, of something dying. Her pulse quickened as she remembered the stink from the Wraithwoods and from the shadelings in Castere Keep. If she was anywhere but the Iluminus, she would have sworn the shade inhabited the room. Involuntarily, her hand slid down to her empty scabbard.
“You were brought here today to show you are worthy of the calling you seek.” This second voice was different, almost as if water dripped while the person spoke. It chased the thoughts from her mind. “There will be but one chance for you to turn back and resume your duties as an Ashishin. Now is your chance. Decide.”
Irmina licked her lips and then cleared her throat. “What happens if I don’t want to decide?”
“Then we may decide to strip you of your current status. Uncertainty is unbecoming for an Ashishin.” This voice hissed like water poured over hot coals.
“And if I fail?”
“You will be nothing.” Another new voice, this time with a musical tinkle.
A Raijin, an Ashishin, or nothing. Why can’t these things ever be simple?
“Choose.” The command was like a rumble of thunder. For some reason it irritated her.
“Suppose I turned back now, what then?”
“You will remain an Ashishin until the end of your days,” the disembodied voice announced.
Well, that didn’t sound so bad. There are worse ways to die.
“Many have failed before you. Many have decided not to proceed,” said the hiss.
“There is no shame if you lack the ability.” The person with the musical tone was almost mocking.
The speeches continued in a susurrus, goading her, giving her doubts, some encouraging, some belittling. They spilled forth so fast, her head spun. It was as if a crowd surrounded her, taunting. She always hated being bullied. Temper flaring, she opened her mouth to answer then abruptly stopped. Now she understood why Jerem shouted earlier, why he was so out of character, why he winked. A reminder.
Irmina sought the control of the Eye. She floated within its center while her anger, fear, confusion, and a dozen other emotions skittered on the outside. She said nothing.
Moments passed with the voices’ taunts. Abruptly, they stopped.
Silence stretched for what felt like an eternity.
“Good,” disembodied said. “A Raijin must know when not to speak.”
“However, there is still a choice to be made. Do you wish to take the test?” asked the voice that dripped.
She offered no answer.
“Good. A Raijin must never be forced into any decision but their own.” The response came in a hiss.
“Why did you allow he who was responsible for your family’s demise to go free?” The musical voice continued in rhythmic tones, “Why did you spare the life of one of the greatest threats to our rule? A threat to peace?”
Irmina gritted her teeth, almost losing her hold on the Eye with the mention of her family. “Everything is not always what it seems.”
“Good,” disembodied said. “A Raijin must see what others cannot.”
“Do you understand why we do what we do? Why the values of Streamean worship is so important?” All the voices rang out in a chorus.
Irmina almost smiled. “Unity.”
“Why?”
“It’s the basis of the greatest strength. The togetherness of the gods, the religions, and man are the way for survival and prosperity, so is the unity of mind, body, and Mater.”
The room became quiet. Slowly, the silence grew to something palpable in Irmina’s chest. Then the voices began to whisper. Unrecognizable, the conversation flitted back and forth.
“There’s another issue before us,” the Exalted said in concert.
Irmina waited patiently.
“High Ashishin are taught to plot against each other. This is one of the ways to see who is worthy of becoming Exalted. But none has been so bold as your High Shin Jerem.”
“What do you mean?”
“He plots against the Exalted themselves.”
“I know nothing of his plans.”
“What would you do if you were in our position?”
“Dispose of the threat.” She pictured eyebrows rising at her suggestion.
“What of the belief we teach in avoiding violence? The harmonies between man and his world?”
“Such a balance will take care of itself.”
“Good. A Raijin must know when to look past any supposed rules to strive for the greater good.” Again this came from all the Exalted.
Another lull followed in the questioning as they resumed the quiet conversation between themselves. Strain as she might, Irmina failed to make out any words or individuals. The whispers reminded her of those at the edge of her mind when her emotions rose to a boil and she attempted to touch her Matersense. But those voices goaded, begged for her to kill in order kill to appease them. The Exalted’s whispers lacked a comparable malevolence.
“Irmina Nagel, your people in Eldanhill joined in the recent uprisings against the Tribunal. They have not gone as far as some of the others in Granadia, rebuking Streamean worship altogether, but their rebellion must be dealt with. An example must be made of their leaders.”
Irmina’s lips quirked, but she held in her smile. “As you wish. I am but the bladed extension of your will.”
“Good. A Raijin’s loyalty is to Ilumni and the Exalted first, the Tribunal second. All else is of no consequence.”
Profane, placing yourselves on the same level as a god. She almost asked where the people themselves fit in. Instead, she bowed in acquiescence.
“Raijin Nagel, what did you discover of Ryne Waldron … or Nerian, if you prefer.”
Irmina held in a gasp at their mention of her title. Not throwing back her head and laughing in exultation was only made possible by the Eye. “Beyond that he may be descended from the Eztezians, and he wields a power unknown to all, not much. He now has some strange link between himself and someone I once knew in Eldanhill. When it happened, I felt it. It was as if the entire world and all its Mater were interconnected through them. When I left him, he was headed to Eldanhill. His bodyguard turned out to be a netherling. He-” She cut off as the voices rose so loud she could barely think. They rasped, tinkled, thundered, dripped and everything else in between.
“Raijin Irmina. You have your first task. Kill Ryne Thanairen Waldron, whoever he has linked with, and the Eldanhill Council.”
Chapter 7
By the time they reached Eldanhill’s walls, several guards had already come to escort them. The soldiers cupped their hands over their mouths and noses and glanced back at the giant who now lay on a two-wheeled dray drawn by two horses. The flatbed cart trundled through the ankle high slush covering the Eldan Road’s cobbles. Boots squishing in the muddy snow, Ancel strode next to the stranger, pointedly ignoring the curious looks from townsfolk. Several dogs chased the dray for a moment, barking at the unconscious man before Ancel shooed them away. The absence of nosy children running by to point or stare in awe was as out of place as the signs and results of the Sendethi attack on Eldanhill.
Forty-foot wooden walls and the towers along its length were the first of those. Inside Eldanhill, they’d rebuilt much of the buildings destroyed during the siege. Stone and woodwork of new construction stood in stark contrast to the charred, skeletal remains of some homes. From the top of the Streamean temple’s clock tower flew two banners: the Setian Quaking Forest and the Dosteri Guardian Wall with its shield emblazoned against a background of battlements. Soldiers in beige Dosteri uniforms or Setian green marched down the road. Some dotted the towers along the ramparts.