“Not lies, but a composition of dreams, nightmares, visions, theories passed down by us. If an Eztezian claimed to have been linked to all the Planes of Existence-Past, Present, and Future-who would say he was not? The gods made us. The netherlings gave us more power. Surely, we could see all things. Convincing isn’t it?
“Little exists to separate what is real from what isn’t, what is carefully crafted stories, and what might truly be prophecy. There are those among the netherlings, known as the Nine, who seek to harness power for themselves. They have been guiding us to specific paths that serve their purpose. It’s one of the reasons we decided to seal the gods themselves. To protect them. Only by killing the gods can the Nine take their places.
“Then there are other factions, some who believe the world is better off with the gods regardless of what they’ve done in the past. It’s been my suspicion over the years that they are behind the Skadwaz or are Skadwaz, looking to ensure their master returns. From what I witnessed at the Chainin, this Skadwaz can draw on Prima. Not only that, but its release will tempt the other remaining Eztezians. If they can find concentrations of Prima, they no longer need to find an Entosis to recharge. But why? This is all wrong.”
“I don’t believe you,” Galiana said, although what Ryne said rang with truth. “I cannot imagine deception on this grand a scale.”
“Oh?” Ryne said. “So then what you’ve taught at the Mysteras or all across Denestia is true? Or the way blame was laid at Nerian’s feet. How about that? Didn’t the Tribunal themselves fail to reveal every Matii that was at the brink to purposely goad me to act? Didn’t they play me against the Erastonians, making me believe the Erastonians were responsible for the release of shadelings into Seti? The war between Astoca and Cardia and their subsequent split was because the Tribunal considered their ancestors to be their strongest adversary, and therefore drove a wedge between them with broken treaties and mishandled trade policies. Is any of that less grand a scale? It all affected the world. You worked events the same as the Nine does. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Nine are planted deep in the Iluminus.”
Overwhelmed by the possibility, Galiana eyed Damal from a distance. What more of an example did she need? Damal had defended her city against a strike by the gods, but some stories and songs had it that he’d destroyed Jenoah. It wasn’t much different from how most Eztezians were normal men, outside of those from the Svenzar, but by use of constructs and with the Svenzar’s own size, the Eztezians had become synonymous with giants who protected the world.
“We need to inform the other councils,” she said, finally. “Call a gathering.”
“No,” Ryne said. “The Shadow Council will not waver in its support of Amuni, and the same can be said for the Whites and Ilumni. Both are staunch in their belief that the gods’ return is the only way to see harmony in Denestia. They’re fanatics. They would both rather scour the world of any who did not worship their gods. Neither of them are ready. Not yet.”
“Maybe, but faced with this, from the mouth of an Eztezian, they would have to change.”
“Wishful thinking, but you know better than that. They would see me dead.”
“Then it’s just us of the Gray. We still hold onto much of what the Tenets and Principles taught us. Besides, we probably have the greatest army of Matii seeing that-” She cut herself off. Why did she suddenly feel the need to work with Ryne, with Nerian? Did she dare believe what he said about being Manipulated? Suppose he was doing the same to her? She squinted but saw no Forging from the man.
“I see suspicion creeping across your face,” Ryne said. “If I wanted to harm the boy, or you, or Stefan or any others, I could have. Not one among you possesses the power to stop me.”
“Still as arrogant as ever, I see.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I swear in my brother’s name and by the blessings of the Streams, that I mean no harm. It is Denestia I want to help save.”
Oaths were not something Thanairen gave lightly. She’d never known him to break one. “Very well. What do you suggest we do?”
“First, Ancel must finish this portion of his training. Then we gather the rest of the Grays, find the other Eztezians, and discover the location of this Skadwaz. Instead of defending, it’s time we strike.”
A stab of sadness poked at Galiana’s chest. It must have shown or her face, because Ryne frowned at her.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Only three of the original Grays still live. The years of war with the White and Shadow have taken its toll. Only Sol Remus, Trucida Adler, and I are left.”
Ryne leaned back, face held to the sky, and shook his head. “Nothing is ever easy.” He looked at her once more. “Where are they?”
“Remus, you met already.”
“Let me guess … Jerem?”
She nodded. Even when he was younger, Thanairen had a knack for discovering the most intricate plots. “He is in Calisto, most likely. He has been working as much as he dared on this side of the Vallum and in Ostania. Trucida, last I heard, was somewhere in Everland. So you know, the Pathfinders belong to Jerem now.”
“The same Pathfinders who have been killing Matii? Depleting our numbers? Why hasn’t he reined them in?”
Galiana shrugged. “You can ask him when we get to Calisto.” She didn’t fully trust the man, and in ways, making them seem weaker than they were at present might work in her favor in case he had some treachery planned. What happened to the Setian under Nerian’s rule still gave her nightmares. That brought up another issue. How was she going to reveal this to Stefan?
“Well,” Ryne said, “Harval and Calisto it is then.”
“And afterward?”
“A land to reclaim.”
Chapter 35
From where he lay on the flattened grass, Ancel glared at the colossal sentient. The construct, had called itself Damal, Ryne’s brother and once a leader of the Eztezians. Supposedly the same Damal from legend, the one minstrel’s sang about, the one who according to the stories had sacrificed himself for Denestia, or destroyed Jenoah, depending on which telling you believed. Frustrated at yet another failure, Ancel punched the ground and got to his feet.
“Good, boy. I see fire in your eyes. It becomes you.” The sentient grinned, its mouth a yawning cavern.
Time had become a forgotten concept for Ancel. Days had bled into nights and into days again, each filled with near incessant training. Occasional rest and pauses to allow for a meal or a drink when Ryne, Galiana, or Mirza brought him food and kinai were the only breaks to the monotony. Beyond them asking after his well-being, Damal didn’t allow much conversation, cutting off any attempt at an extended talk. The kinai juice or fruit they brought was sweeter than any he had before, even his mother’s. Each time he partook, it more than simply invigorated him; the kinai drove away all fatigue, making him feel as if he could run a hundred miles, fight a dozen battles. Damal pushed him harder soon afterward.
And still, he’d learned nothing. Or at least that’s how he felt.
“I continue to tell you,” Damal’s mouth twitched into a smirk Ancel had grown to loathe, “these are not the essences outside that do your bidding simply by drawing on them. You must not only command Prima, but you must have absolute belief in what you do. Doubt yourself for one moment, one instant, and they will refuse your call.”
Easy for you to say. You’re not facing a three-storied house in the shape of a man.