Immediately, his concern for them threatened to drown him. Where was Irmina now? Was she somewhere being punished by the Tribunal? And Kachien? Had she managed to lead the other Eldanhill refugees away safely? What of Mother … and Da … He nolonger sensed his mother within the pendant. He licked his suddenly dry lips. “I–I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”
“No one is ever ready. If I had my way, you would stay here until you had a full grasp of your Etchings and control over your emotions, but time is something we don’t have. For now, I’ll recite the Tenets that correlate with the strongest of my Etchings since one of yours matches mine. Then, I’ll teach you the next one you are strongest in.”
“What determines their strength?”
“Two things. One, similar to us, netherlings are generally more adept in one essence or another. They can use others, but as with humans, there is one essence to which they have an affinity. That determines the type of Etching they imbue into an Eztezian.”
“And the second thing?”
“I was getting to that,” Ryne said with a smile. “Number two is your own lineage. Although there has been much intermingling of races, a bloodline from the original Matii can often be traced in his or her strongest essence.”
Ancel frowned, thinking. “Mine is light right, like any Ashishin.”
“No,” Ryne said. “And that’s another thing. Over the years, the title Ashishin has become commonly applied to any Matus who can Forge. That wasn’t always so. There were actually twelve different types of Matii, each representing an essence and the gods associated with them.”
“Twelve?” Ancel pursed his lips, and then he began to count off on his fingers as he spoke. “Ilumni, Amuni, Bragni and Rituni, the gods of Streams. Humelen, Liganen and Kinzanen, the god and goddesses of Forms. Hyzenki and Aeoli, the god and goddess of Flows. I guess I would need to add Annendin, the One God, but he’s supposed to represent all the elements in one isn’t he?” He frowned as Ryne nodded. “Are the others two minor gods?”
“No,” Ryne said. “The god’s name is Entopi, he represents life and death.”
“Sela,” Ancel added.
“Yes. The Entoses were named after him.”
“Do you know what happened to all the other Matii?”
“No, I don’t, but stories predating even myself say that some left to populate other worlds in the Omniverse, setting themselves up as gods. But that’s a lesson for another day. Of the gods, there’s a race of Matii derived from each. Here in Granadia, where the Ashishin have ruled for so long, you tend to see mostly their affinity for light within the people. There are signs of others to a lesser extent, as a result of the original Tribunal’s founders and of course from those who emigrated from foreign lands.”
“Like us, the Setian,” Ancel added.
“Exactly.”
“So who are the ancestral Matii of the Setian?”
“The Alzari, among the strongest Matii, able to wield the Forms and the Streams.”
Ancel gasped. Ever since the day when Jillian referred to Kachien as Alzari, he’d wondered about the name. He’d been tempted to search the library, but he asked Kachien instead. She’d reminded him of their conversation on that day outside Randane. He recalled her words vividly.
‘We are mercenaries. From the day we can walk until the day we die, we are trained to kill.’
But that wasn’t the worst of what she had to say. When she told him the majority of her people now fought alongside Amuni’s Children and whatever was left of the shadelings in Ostania, he was left stunned. Was that their fate? His fate?
“I know what you might be thinking,” Ryne said, “that it seems your people have always served an evil purpose, but that isn’t so. Nerian the Shadowbearer was under the influence of another, stronger power when he led the Alzari and the Setian down the path he did. A power strong enough to defeat even one of us.
“Before and after the Shadowbearer War, the Setian and Alzari split several ways to try preserve the remnants. Some came to Granadia under the leadership of your father and Galiana. Others stayed close to the Vallum of Light, hoping to find a way to survive. Others became the Alzari clans we know today. Still, others, the ones steeped in their darkness, continued in Nerian’s footsteps, which eventually led to the War of the Remnants. By then, so much had been twisted by different tellings, that much of the true histories were lost.”
“It-It’s just so much,” Ancel said. “So much I need to relearn, so much that’s different from what I believe or have read, so much I need to control. How could one people turn out this way?”
“This isn’t just about you, Ancel, but the entire world.” Ryne’s voice softened. “Denestia as a whole has suffered, and although the Ashishin have attempted to shield Granadia from most of it, the effects are still there. But it is time for them too to understand that the world needs unity. I fear what has happened in Ostania and now here, is just the beginning of events to come. The netherlings saw you as worthy to become one of us. There has not been another granted the blessing of the Etchings in five hundred years.”
Ancel’s eyes bulged, and his mouth opened. “But-But, that would mean you-you’re …”
“Old? Ancient?” Ryne smiled. “Yes.”
“Are you immortal?”
This time, Ryne laughed, merriment twinkling in his eyes. “No. The closest things to being immortal are the gods. Despite what I told you,” he continued, “it doesn’t mean that you’re Denestia’s savior. Some will tell you differently, and some who look for a sliver of hope may cling to you as if you’re expected to save the world. No single person can. No matter what any ridiculous prophecies say. Only the entire world can save Denestia from what is to come. You will have to work with kings and queens, commoners and thieves, the most pious and sometimes the most immoral. Our job … your job … is to get them to work toward a common goal. Survival. And the task begins with your own people.”
A flood of emotions swept through Ancel. Whatever was at stake, it appeared many believed in him changing things, not only the netherlings, Ryne, and Shin Galiana, but his father too. He remembered his mother’s smile despite her dire situation when he unleashed his power at their winery. A smile that said she expected nothing less from her son. She and his father had gone to great lengths, sacrificing much to see the small portion of their people in Eldanhill and elsewhere survived, that their heritage still lived.
No matter what was required of him, he would not disappoint. He would help change the fate of his people. He would help pave a new path. “Show me what I need to do.”
Chapter 33
Ryne couldn’t help his smile and the prideful swell in his chest. Not only did Ancel continue to show his potential for learning, which so much reminded him of Kahkon, but despite the hardships, he exhibited some of the strongest traits for an Eztezian-in-training. Indomitable will and determination.
However, what he’d seen around Ancel disturbed him. In all his years, he’d yet to see the essences within an Entosis react to any being as they did to Ancel. They caressed him, appearing almost as if he and them were one. At some point, he needed to investigate the reaction. Training was what Ancel required most now.
“Your sword work and creation of the construct was to focus on the connection between the essences and emotions,” Ryne instructed. “Where a normal Forger attempts to use the Eye to shut out their emotions against the essences’ temptations, we Eztezians embrace those emotions through our Etchings. They make us that much more powerful.”
“In other words, the stronger my feelings, the stronger I’ll be?” Ancel asked.
“Yes, but there are still limits. Overdo it and we break the protection the Etchings provide. However, if you’re Forging Prima, the power is further restricted by the amount you have stored. Forging beyond those limits will tear your mind and body apart. Similar to what you began when you saved me.”