“It was from the Battleguards that the gods created the original Eztezians,” Ryne said.
“Finally.” The sound came from the Battleguard. It was like a whisper on the wings of the wind. “One with righteous anger. My name is Etien. I am yours.”
A prickling sensation ran along Ancel’s arms, legs, and body. He held up his forearms. Etchings appeared, their artwork exquisite, displaying creatures, celestial bodies, what appeared to be moonlight, sunshine, and energy arcing through the air. Yet, as he looked he could tell they were incomplete. Still, he couldn’t help his shock.
“Once you have mastered one essence of an Etching, the rest of the power within it appears,” Etien declared. “Now, you must gain the others to complete the element of Streams and harness its full strength.”
Ancel trembled, but not from fear, from sheer pride, excitement, and the immense potency coursing through his Etchings.
Chapter 36
Almost two weeks since he’d gained Etien, Ancel and the others trekked through the snowdrifts of the Red Ridge Mountains toward Harval. He’d felt him coming, and sure enough, Charra had arrived soon after his ordeal and stayed close to him, often licking his Etchings, his tongue like leather layered with sand. Ancel found it quite odd, Charra’s reaction. As odd as the other points, similar to his bonds, that he sensed way to the north. He wondered what they could be before his mind drifted to Ryne’s revelation that he’d spent nine months in the Entosis learning to summon Etien. It was equivalent to three months in Denestia’s time. He hoped the rest of his training would be easier.
According to Galiana, they were heading to Harval to use a Travelshaft. Ancel couldn’t help the excitement bubbling within him at the prospect. He’d once dreamed of using the tunnels built by the Svenzar connecting each city across Denestia.
Ryne spent most days teaching him one Forge or another but nothing too powerful. The classes ranged from those as mundane as drawing water from wet wood, then using air and heat to start a fire, to how to hide his Forges. That last actually required using more of the Flows and Forms, which he often found difficult to do, but once he grasped a sense of it, he saw how the air and earth intertwined to make what he did disappear. If he concentrated hard enough, he picked out a slight distortion, but he needed to be within a few feet.
While training in the Entosis, another notable ability had become a part of him. His skill to see auras had increased to where it existed for the majority of his waking hours. Most of the time, he used it unconsciously, identifying small facets within the colorful swirls of his companions’ auras that reflected their intentions.
In the days since they renewed their trek, his mind constantly drifted to his father, his mother, and Irmina. His mood grew dark every time. The safety of Eldanhill’s other refugees also weighed on him. His father had left their survival in his hands, and he’d dashed it all away to save Ryne. He could only hope he’d made the correct decision.
Since returning from the Entosis, the link he felt through the pendant resonated with increased strength. He could almost pinpoint its location. Somewhere to the north. As tempting as it was to go racing off to discover if she was alive, he knew better. Discovering more about his enemy and saving what remained of the Setian was the first priority.
“Mirza,” Shin Galiana said, with a quick glance at his friend. “You know a few of the folk in Harval, yes?” Mirza nodded. “I need you to control that excitement of yours. Do not speak to anyone concerning us. Ever. Should anyone ask a question of you, tell them to see me. You too, Ancel.”
“Yes, Shin Galiana,” they both replied.
The evening air was crisp and cold, but not the freezing temperature from the prior days. Ryne and Galiana appeared to have become friends, chatting between each other and laughing. Sometimes Ancel felt as if he was watching two old acquaintances. Mirza also seemed to have taken to them better than before. He asked so many questions of them both, and at night, Ryne had begun showing his friend how to use the scythe Mirza now favored. He’d picked up the weapon thinking it was a spear back in Eldanhill. His friend was becoming quite adept with the weapon.
When it came to Ancel, Mirza acted differently, almost reverential. It was as if Mirza saw a different person in him. Ancel often caught him staring, eyes wide with wonder, and sometimes with fear. His friend would offer a forced smile then or avert his eyes. Whenever Ancel spoke to him, their conversation drifted to home in Eldanhill, but like the smiles, their talks felt out of place, an avoidance of what troubled Mirza. Ancel missed their playful banter.
Since they left the Entosis, Ancel opened his Matersense regularly, acclimating himself to the difference between the essences. He came to realize his Etchings sifted them, storing a miniscule amount. The voices clamored to him more than ever, but with the Eye, he brushed them off. He was in command. They raged against him, but he simply shut them out.
As they walked, he prayed for his father’s well-being and tried not to think of his mother. Twice the nightmares of the black-armored man made him wake in cold sweats. Only once did he have another dream where he stood within Jenoah, protecting the city from the gods’ attack while yelling the sword’s name.
Antonjur. At some point, he needed to question Ryne about it.
Lost in his thoughts, he almost failed to notice when the mining trail changed into a pass several hundred feet wide. He glanced up at the white, shimmering cliffs around them. The wind howled through the pass, a beast of icy fangs that snatched at his furs.
The first hint of a town came from muddy snow and travel-beaten ground beneath them, now stained red as if tinged with blood. It was a reflection of the sandy earth below that would become all too apparent in the long summer’s baking heat. The second hint came from Charra’s low growl and the three thick-furred dogs that appeared, barking excitedly. A solid looking man garbed in furs stepped out from one of the walls, chased away the dogs, and melted into the stone again.
Mirza tapped Ancel on the shoulder and pointed into the air ahead of them. Ancel had to look twice for his mind to conceive what his eyes witnessed.
Suspended in the air above them, stone bridges connected one wall of the pass to the other, stretching up as far as his eyes could see. Battlements lined the cliffs at varying levels, appearing to be natural phenomena. The sun glinted off translucent icicles hanging from the bridges’ underbellies like bejeweled death. Ancel lost count at thirty similar structures. Occasionally, a face would appear over the edge of a span, peering in their direction. Every crossing ended at an opening in the palisades that stretched to each side on the edge of the cliffs, hiding the paths beyond. The walls, cliffs, and bridges were carved from the same rock, as if a god chiseled it into shape.
The cliff faces sparkled with a fading, orange luminescence: reflections of the dying sunlight upon the many stones and metal contained within. Ancel stared in wonder as lights appeared in openings above the battlements and in the mountain itself. His mouth opened of its own volition. Those are windows.
Subtle changes in the form of the cliffs turned out to be buildings, parts of them hidden by the walled paths or roads. Homes, he realized. Rounded and square roofs jutted out before becoming one with the stone from which they originated.
“Amazing right?” Mirza grinned next to him.
“When …”
“I first came here with my father a few months before Danvir, you, and I left for Randane. I couldn’t believe my eyes either.” Mirza gestured around them. “All of this sitting here in the mountains. I tried to tell you about it, but you were still mooning over Irmina.” He pointed ahead of them. “Come let’s catch up to the others.”