The giant’s own ended at his neck. She squinted as she studied his features. Something about him seemed familiar, but try as she might, she couldn’t place it. Where have I seen you before? She paced around him, taking in every nuance of his face, from the ragged scars running down the left side, to the angular jaw and squared chin hidden beneath mounds of facial hair, to the length of his unkempt locks spilling down his back. Whatever it was, something under his wild countenance tried to tickle a memory. After a few minutes straining for a recollection, she gave up and got on with the mending.
The man still clutched his massive greatsword, so she started there. The torches in their sconces on the wall and the candles around the room reflected from the weapon’s polished surface, highlighting the runes and glyphs. Only one type of metal carried such a high sheen. Silversteel. Imbued no doubt. A divya. She considered Forging to find out exactly what kind but quickly chided herself for almost making a grievous error. There could be some kind of trap or ward worked into the weapon that would trigger when touched by any Forge other than its owner.
She tried to pry his fingers from the sword, but the blackened joints would not budge. The man’s fingers were no longer frozen, but they were as rigid as a block of stone. Disarming him would prove impossible.
The wound, then.
She slid a short stool closer to her table and climbed up. For this type of work, it was best to be directly over what she needed to cut. Leaning to one side, she reached out to the table that held her tools. She straightened with a small knife in her hand. As she bent over the man’s prone form, something about his armor caught her eye.
Squinting so tight it almost hurt, she peered from his boots back to his leathers. How did I miss this? The man’s boots were ragged, indicative of months of nonstop travel. Small rips and tears exposed blackened flesh. She climbed down and walked to the end of the table. The bottom of his boots were so worn that in places the soles of his feet were exposed. Why did you do this to yourself? What was so important that you traveled until you were in this state?
However, his feet weren’t her greatest concern. If his boots were in this condition, his skin frostbitten where exposed, his hair a dirty, caked-mess, and his body reeking as if he hadn’t seen a bath in only the gods knew how long, why, except for the artwork, was his armor as spotless as his sword?
Could those also be Etchings on his leather? They matched perfectly where the sleeves of the chestpiece ended. So much so, she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
Galiana hurried to the door and peeked outside. “Stefan, come here please.”
Ancel snapped to attention from where he sat on a chair against the wall, his eyes anxious. “Is everything fine?”
“Yes. I just need to speak to your father for a moment.” She beckoned to the elder Dorn.
In a few long strides, Stefan crossed the room. “What’s wrong?” He drew next to her and stared down into her face in an attempt to read her expression.
“We will talk inside.” She let him in, took one more glance toward Ancel, gave him a reassuring nod, and then closed the door, and locked it.
“Well?” Stefan paused to look at the giant before turning to face her.
“What did you shoot him with?”
“An arrow?”
“Do not play the fool, Stefan. You know what I mean.”
A pained expression drifted across Stefan’s face. “A divya arrow. I didn’t know who or what he was and with things how they are, I always carry one nocked and ready.”
“That’s what I thought. Look at his boots and his armor.”
Stefan didn’t turn. “I noticed when we were in the forest.”
“Where have you seen this before? The artwork, or rather, the Etchings.” Galiana ambled over to the body.
“Besides on my son? The Svenzar back when we battled Nerian had the same.”
“Yes. I believe the time has come and that’s why our Listeners have spotted the Svenzar in the Red Ridge Mountains. When I leave, I will send word to all the Listeners to begin the assembly.”
Stefan nodded, his mouth curving into a smile. “The council may not agree. Not that their disapproval would stop you.”
“You and Thania began this, Stefan. The dice have been cast. We cannot pick them up now.”
“Indeed.”
“Now,” she said, “for the second issue. Inspect the sword, carefully.”
Stefan strode to the table and bent close, running his hand along the blade. After a moment, he gasped. “How did I miss this? The markings are identical to Ancel’s sword.”
“Yes. The Access Key,” Galiana said. “This confirms the existence of more than one, but what purpose does his serve?”
“He’s the only one who can answer that.” Stefan straightened. “Can you save him?” He gazed down at the man, his brows drawing together. “I get this … sense as if I know him or should … I don’t like it, but if he’s the chance Ancel needs to harness his power …”
Galiana understood all too well. “I get the same impression but I cannot place his face. As for saving him, I’m not sure.” She opened her Matersense and gasped.
The usual patterns of essences she carefully arranged around her home in wards were now disfigured, seething like a boiling black cauldron. They congregated around the giant’s prone form in bands and strands so thick and comingled she couldn’t separate one from the other. It should have been impossible. Since Mater made up everything within the world, those with an innate ability for mending like herself, were able to distinguish how the essences flowed into a form. How they worked, where light encouraged life, opened an artery, where shade would close the very same blood vessel to prevent overuse or slow a racing heart.
But not on this man.
Where the essences should have touched his armor and body, they stood a few inches above him instead. The space between the seething mass of power and the man was only an inch thick, but it was plain to see. Something around his body prevented Mater from touching him. Some kind of shield. If she cocked her head just right and strained her Matersense hard enough, she managed to make out a colorless, nebulous membrane.
“Is something wrong?” Stefan asked.
“I cannot mend him.” Galiana sagged from the effort of examining the giant so deeply.
“That’s a first,” Stefan said. “You sure?”
“Yes, there’s a shield of some sort protecting him.” Vision blurry, she nodded. She located the chair near the table and slid into it.
“Are you well?”
“A-A little tired from reading him.”
Stefan strode across the room to her desk against the wall. He poured some water from a pitcher.
“No,” she said. “Give me some kinai instead.”
He nodded and picked up the other container with the red liquid. “Is there anything you can do to help him at all?” After pouring the water back into its pitcher, he refilled the cup with kinai juice. “I don’t know if he’s dying, but he doesn’t appear to be getting any better.” Stefan brought the drink over to her.
She took the cup gratefully. “I am wracking my brain for a solution, a way to mend him, but I come up with nothing.” She gulped down a mouthful of kinai, savoring the sweet taste. “Even if I linked with several other Matii, I do not think they would help. Whatever is causing the effect around him, be it his Etchings or his armor, the essences cannot penetrate it right now. I have never seen anything of the sort.”
“What if we tried to make a hole using a divya the same way I was able to pierce his armor with one?”
She took another deep drink and shook her head. “That’s the problem. If the essences cannot get through, how did your arrow?”