Another question nagged at the back of his mind. Did the Setian or the Tribunal understand the Chainin’s primary purpose? The divya kept one of the wards on the Kassite intact, and in turn helped to seal the Nether. Activate enough of its power and one risked shattering the respective ward. Whoever had taken Ancel’s mother must have known this. They’d pushed the boy until the essences carried him over the edge, and he accepted their power. Coupled with the Key, Ancel had unwittingly broken the ward, releasing Prima essences-the power required by the Nine to rule over men and gods. What creatures were now able to cross unhindered from the Nether and the realms beyond? Ryne shuddered.
Opposite him, beyond the Chainin, soldiers shifted into formations, the inferno reflecting off their armor and weapons. Matii, every one of them. Among their number stood a man and a woman in gold robes with crimson and white along the edges. Stripes lined the sleeves.
The man had no aura.
Ryne grimaced. To the left and right of the High Shin, arrayed in a loose formation, were a dozen others in silversteel armor, their faces hidden behind full helms. Above them flew two battle standards: the Lightstorm and the Golden Road of the Pathfinders.
“Cease whatever you intend,” boomed the man’s voice.
Ryne glanced over his shoulder.
Swords brandished, several of the Tribunal’s Dagodin marched through the snow and took up positions in front of Ancel and the others. Both young men had their bows drawn, fletching to ear. Kachien was shifting from side to side, daggers in hand.
“No.” Ryne faced the High Shin once more.
The auras around the female High Shin and the Pathfinders bloomed brighter. Mater drew together in ever thickening bands. The essences built until they entwined with that already in the air around the Chainin. They formed complete elements, triggering those imbued within the silvery surface. Light flared from the divya, followed by a thunderous crack. The power amplified tenfold.
“The time is now,” whispered the voice of malevolence within the essences.
“Use our power as you will,” said the softer voice that often advised caution.
“We are yours,” added a third, deeper yet more insistent resonance.
“You are mine,” Ryne stressed. He linked the heat of the bonfire with the bands of essences, and then forced that power into his Etchings depicting the sun’s eternal flames. “High Shin … Pathfinders! You are aware of what I hold. Return the way you came or burn.”
Shocked expressions abounded. The man simply looked on. The Tribunal’s Matii hesitated for a moment before they again pulled on more of the elements.
Smiling, Ryne accepted their gift. The power roiled up into him in a searing wave. He concentrated on the Chainin. “Heat to balance metal. Heat to evoke passion. Passion is unrelenting.”
“No!” yelled the male High Shin.
Behind him, Ryne heard multiple crackles and swishes. Portals opening and closing. He unleashed the essence of the Streams he’d summoned when he invoked heat’s Tenet.
Liquid flame shot out from an Etching on his arm in the shape of a bird. The conflagration grew to the size of a house. Its wings cast shadows like gigantic blades, the wind when they flapped buffeting him. The representation of the essence enveloped the Chainin.
The silversteel divya began to melt, collapsing into itself. A thick puddle of slag formed, steam rising off its surface in hissing spurts.
Heated blasts washing over him in ever-increasing amounts, Ryne chanted, “Cold to balance fire. Cold to evoke temperance. Temperance is all encompassing.”
Another essence of the Streams swept forth, this from the Etchings of the great North, its snows, icy expanses, and frozen peaks. A miniature mountain with shining eyes grew next to Ryne. When it reached its full height, it spanned thirty feet. Like an avalanche, the summons swallowed the flames and the heat. Liquid metal pooled on the black soil and cooled. The flow became a trickle before it stopped altogether, frozen solid.
Ryne released his hold on his Matersense and staggered from the protective zone around what remained of the Chainin. Body shivering from the sudden, immense cold, he keeled over onto something soft. When he finally managed to focus, he realized he’d fallen face first into snow. A shadow fell across his face.
“What happened?” The shadow resolved into Ancel, eyes wide with awe, fear, and concern.
“T-The flames d-didn’t generate enough e-energy …” Ryne hugged himself to calm the spasms, “to properly summon the essences of fire. I had to use my own body heat.” He’d known the risk when he tried. Neither heat nor cold belonged to him, and his use of them was restricted. The High Shin, or whatever he was, had left him no choice. Better to destroy the Chainin than allow it to fall into the wrong hands.
“Take it easy,” Ancel said. “We can rest here if you need to.”
Ryne waved him closer. “No. We can’t. I think the Chainin was the only reason the Tribunal hasn’t attacked Eldanhill yet. With your mother gone, I suspect they wanted to use the divya for themselves and find out if anyone else in your town could harness its power.”
“Then why did you destroy it?”
“I … we can’t afford to let them have it.” Ryne gasped for breath. Using two Forges of that magnitude at once while feeding the essences his own sela left him drained. “The Exalted wish to rival the gods. They will do whatever it takes, including kill any that stand in their way.”
“Well, we can’t carry you.”
“In the bags, there’s kinai juice,” Ryne wheezed. “Bring it for me.”
Ancel left and returned moments later with a waterskin. Ryne gulped down the contents, some of the sweet juice dripping on his cheek, neck, and down his chest. His Etchings shifted to absorb the spillage.
The energy and Mater imparted from kinai surged through him. His back arched with the rush of pain and ecstasy it brought. The effect would only be temporary. Combined with the trek to Ancel, this Forging had cost him more sela than was wise to use. The essences stored within his Etchings were almost depleted. He needed an Entosis as soon as possible.
He pushed to his knees, paused to gather himself, and then he stood. “I’ll be fine for now. It will be a while before the elements in this area are stable enough for the Tribunal to Materialize here again. Unless they use some other location, that buys us maybe a day. Regardless, if they’re smart, they will come here first to see what happened to the Chainin and who controls it.”
“They’ll be able to see it’s gone if they come from anywhere north of here,” Mirza said.
Ryne glanced toward the Kelvore’s jagged fangs where they disappeared into the clouds and mists. The young man was right. Unless.
He linked with Ancel, this time not simply to communicate, but the full connection.
Ancel’s eyes shot open.
“Don’t panic,” Ryne said in Ancel’s head. “Relax. Seek the Eye.” He saw through his ward’s eyes. In turn, Ancel could do the same. “Your Etching is mainly heat and light, but there’s a bit of the Forms within it. Most Etchings contain a part of the Forms as that helps to shape everything.”
Features smoothing, Ancel nodded.
“Good. Now, from the Eye choose the emotions that correspond to your Etchings, to the Streams.” He felt Ancel tap into his passion, his aggression, his despair, his love.
Ancel’s face contorted with strain, but he did not give up.
“Eaaaasy, allow the Eye to do its work. Let the essences feed on your sela as they need.” He waited a moment until Ancel’s features relaxed. “Now, dip into the Forms.”