She reached the Stoneman amid those thoughts, checking on the young men first. Ancel and Mirza were asleep on two small beds, and Ryne stretched on the floor. Charra lay next to Ancel’s bed, one of his eyes opening lazily and closing after he saw her. Galiana turned to leave.
“Is everything fine?” Ryne’s deep voice rumbled. “Or do I need to wake them?”
She did not show her surprise. “No. Let them rest, and you too. We are leaving before noon. Be sure to restock our supplies.”
She did not wait for him to answer before she left, closing the door behind her. Sleep sang to her as she entered her room.
Chapter 39
Ryne lay on his back watching the sun filter through the curtains. Sleep had eluded him. Thoughts of Ancel kept him awake all night. The young man was more powerful than he could have imagined. His summoning of Etien was the first sign that indeed he might be the Aegis.
He shook his head. All these years, knowing the prophecy was a reflection of a dream from the zyphyls, and yet he had doubted if he would see part of it come to fruition.
Men chased fate and power. He’d watched as they did so, feeding off tidbits planted by those who believed in the Aegis, creating one kingdom after another, destroying one civilization after another. All in the name of destiny. The theory among the Eztezians was that man’s unquenchable thirst for power would inevitably lead to the Aegis.
What really was the Aegis? Not even he knew for certain.. Damal had said it was destined to save and destroy the world at the same time, shield and kill the gods. As contradicting as it sounded, he understood. Opposing forces nullifying each other. Harmony.
All had seemed to go well with their plans until other Eztezians succumbed to the Skadwaz who led Amuni’s Children. That person tried every possible way to rid the world of anyone who might become the Aegis. The worst part was the inability to put a face or name to the enemy’s leader.
Ancel’s sword had almost been their undoing. It held power, Etchings to be exact-a requirement to weaken the seals and release Prima-but it was also a locator. One he’d relied on in hopes of finding a person who could wield the weapon when he believed the Dorns were dead. If not for Jenoah Amelie, or Galiana as she now called herself, he would have lost this battle long ago. She created replicas of the weapon through the Imbuers. When the one link to the sword changed into several hundred thousand, spread all across Denestia, he and Sakari stopped searching. Thank the gods for her plan. Otherwise, Ancel would not exist.
A sigh escaped his lips at how close his brethren had come to defeat. The boy’s life meant they had a chance, even if it did not nullify the Nine’s or Amuni’s chances. Better a sliver of hope than none at all.
Seven more Etchings for Ancel to hold the elements. At least if he were meant to possess them all. Three more to complete the Streams. Even now, he felt four of his brothers moving away from them. Somewhere far north, toward the Great Divide. In ways, it made sense. Prima would congregate at the prison, drawn to the Etchings Forged into the ruins within the Divide-the original Iluminus’ ruins.
He abruptly sat up. What better place to wait for the Eztezians? Ancel’s release of Prima might not only be for the benefit of those powerful enough to wield it in the Nine’s or Amuni’s service, but also a trap. But set by whom? Which faction? He tempered the urge to rush off and warn the others. More than anyone else, Ancel needed him to finish his training, but he also needed the other Eztezians. Torn, Ryne couldn’t decide if it was worth the risk to try warn them or to help them. To pursue either endeavor required planning and resources that might be beyond him. Better that though than the alternative of Ancel having to travel into the Nether or to Antonjur.
Ryne stood and attempted to gather his thoughts. He felt as if his mind had split into a hundred pieces, and the wind now rattling the window had swept them away. For the second time in recent memory, exhaustion crowded him, and unlike then, he hadn’t expended any effort to Forge. He gazed at the beds where Ancel and Mirza slept peacefully. So much rode on the young man’s shoulders, and there was no one to carry the weight for him. Ryne knew the feeling. He’d carried the same burden for countless years.
Not wanting to wake them, he picked up his sword belt from the bed and buckled it around his waist. At times like these, he missed Damal and the others. At least there would have been someone to talk to, a person who could relate. Now, all he had was loneliness.
‘The life we lead are not ones any sane man would envy. The same way order balances chaos, responsibility balances power.’ Damal’s words echoed in his head. Maybe that’s why we are destined to go mad, brother. Maybe that’s why our brothers are walking into an obvious trap. A chance to end it all after too many years languishing, struggling against the inevitable, against enemies from all sides. At the door, he paused to look back at Ancel and Mirza once again. They deserved more. The world deserved better.
When he left by the Stoneman’s upper entrance, he made his way toward the bridges. The wind swirled, bringing with it a chill and fresh air, while the sun’s rays coated the mountains and plateaus in golden swathes, yet its warmth didn’t reach the town. The few people on the streets hurried by, bundled up in furs and leathers, heads covered by their hooded cloaks. Those who noticed him gave a wide berth. Several wore leather armor in the Tribunal’s familiar crimson.
He stopped at the middle of one of the spans. Mists gathered below him, obscuring the other bridges with its inkiness. The folk traveling along them disappeared in its spirals like fleeting spirits. With the fog, the canyon walls spanned down into a void that appeared endless.
The yawning chasm below reminded him of the years spent mired in war. One war after the other. Not mere battles but conflicts that sometimes spanned centuries as well as several countries. Kingdoms rose, lived, and died, some to live again, others to remain dead. Great cities lay in ruins, their secrets, their people perishing with them. If he could count the dead, he was certain they numbered in the tens of millions. And even now, there was no end in sight.
The history of his many lives poured forth, and with it came bleakness. The memories settled on him as Nerian, and then Ryne before he regained his stolen consciousness. His heart ached. Someday he would have to kill Ryne Waldron and once again become Thanairen Adelfried. Today wasn’t that day.
Footsteps stopped next to him as a gust delivered scented soap. “When I see a man gazing over the edge of a precipice, I often wonder where his thoughts are.” Galiana’s voice sounded almost as weary as he felt.
“His thoughts ask if it was worth it. All the suffering, the pain, the struggles through the years. If he can manage to see it all to an end.”
“What conclusions has such a man come to?”
“He doesn’t know yet.” Ryne watched as his breath spiraled up from his mouth. “He’s done a lot of good and bad. Sometimes he thinks he’s done more bad than good. But there’s always been a purpose when his actions were his own. Now, he wonders if he is too late. If his years spent hiding, in denial of his power, of his responsibility, cost those he holds dearest. His own people.”
“Doesn’t his admission of his faults show his humility?”
Ryne sunk into himself. “Maybe, but the people need someone who will stand strong, undaunted in the face of what is to come.”
“Thanarien,” Galiana’s voice grew soft, “you have shown more strength than an army of thousands. Your perseverance has withstood the test of time.”
“And yet still I might fail.”
“Demand perseverance but first show determination. Demand pride after you show humility. Demand they overcome after you prevail.” She repeated each quote with a distinct air of belief. “I am surprised you forgot some of your brother’s foremost teachings.”