“They sealed themselves and hid the memory of their locations. But there was one thing they forgot to account for.”
“What?”
“The Chroniclers.”
“The Great Tomes?”
“No. The Chroniclers. The men and women who wrote the Chronicles within the Great Tomes. The lost descendants of Eztezian and netherling couplings. They decided it was their duty to walk the land and record all past, present and futures. They passed their knowledge down inherently. After thousands of years, their offspring became the Matii we are today. The Ashishin, the Namazzi, the Svenzar, the Alzari, the Skadwaz and others who shall remain nameless.”
Irmina frowned. “So what makes the Chroniclers so important?”
“Well, if you could find the descendants of the Chroniclers, then you could find who now holds the histories. In turn, you could find out where the Eztezians are hidden.”
Everything fell into place for Irmina now. “And by perfecting the Bloodline Affinity, whoever it is among Amuni’s Children now has the upper hand in locating the last Eztezians. Kill them, and they break the seals.”
“Precisely so.”
Something still didn’t make sense to her. “But who has enough power to kill an Eztezian. Not even a High Ashishin could. One of the Exalted, maybe?”
Bodo paced once more. “Several Exalted may stand a chance. It’s more likely all this has been put into play by a netherling.”
“Merciful Ilumni,” Irmina whispered. “A netherling, here in Denestia? But that would mean the seals have weakened enough for them to breach the Kassite and pass into any of the Planes of Existence.”
“That, is just the beginning of the horrors that could be unleashed on our world,” Bodo said, his round faced now haggard and grim. “We don't think the seals have weakened to that point yet, but we believe some netherlings have always been here since the sealing. We don't know how to find them, but as of now, we suspect only the weakest creatures can cross the Kassite as it is attuned to stop the strongest threats.
“However, as the seals continue to weaken, not only will stronger shadelings pass through, but we will face daemons and the Skadwaz themselves. Denestia will fall to a horde of shadelings under their power. Eventually, the seals will be broken, and the gods will come to seek vengeance. So, you see our dilemma. We ourselves need the help of the Eztezians. It’s why Jerem has ordered you to approach this man, Ryne. You need to find a way to have him trust you. Jerem believes this Ryne to be a direct descendant of an Eztezian.”
CHAPTER 37
Ancel shifted his butt around in an attempt to find a more comfortable position in the corner of the old barn, brushing away the offending sprigs of hay that poked at him through his clothes. Kachien, her face a pale imitation of its normal coppery color, lay asleep next to him. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, much better than the shallow breathing she’d suffered from as the night had turned to day and she pointed the way to this abandoned farm and its ramshackle buildings. Now, dusk had come again, but at least this time they’d found shelter. Charra stood guard near the door, his eyes focused out into the night’s encroaching darkness.
Earlier, they’d managed to find an old oil lamp and enough fuel in a metal drum to keep it alight. Mirza, his hair now a faded scarlet, stirred the coals in a fire pit they’d dug after clearing out the hay from the stall he and Danvir occupied. The small fire flared and smoke wafted through the air, finding its way out a nearby window. On a spit, Danvir turned several mutton haunches, their juices sizzling when they touched the glowing coals. The meat’s mouthwatering aroma set Ancel’s stomach grumbling.
Ancel made certain Kachien still rested comfortably before he stood and walked over to his friends. He took a seat next to them on the barn’s earthen floor, the fire’s warmth a welcome comfort.
Danvir nodded toward Kachien. “How’s she doing?”
“Much better. I still don’t think we’ll be able to leave tonight like she wanted.”
Mirza stirred the coals again, kicking up sparks. “As long as we get to eat first, I don’t care. I’ve never much liked this side of the Kelvore River.”
Danvir grunted in agreement. The two of them had kept up a constant vigil since they crossed the river. Although still in Sendeth, Ancel couldn’t blame his friends for their apprehension. They weren’t far from Randane, but this region may as well be unclaimed lands-the result of frequent skirmishes between Dosteri and Sendethi troops.
“I still can’t believe what she did,” Ancel said, his low voice filled with awe. “To be able to hold the currents of a river at bay. To calm storm winds. To go against the natural flow of Mater. Can you imagine if any of us could do something like that? I wonder how strong she is?”
“Stronger than an Ashishin, I think,” Mirza said.
Danvir took down the hunks of sizzling meat. “Maybe. And right now, I don’t care. I just want to eat and get home.” He dropped the haunches into two large pots they’d found inside the farmhouse.
Echoing his sentiments, Ancel nodded and eyed the food. They’d discussed staying in the farmhouse until they ventured inside past the broken down front door. A weeks old corpse sat rotting in a chair, a huge gash across the chest, head lolled to one side. The place reeked of death. They took only what they needed to prepare their food and left. Ancel cringed with the memory and almost lost his appetite, but his need for sustenance overrode his revulsion.
“Do you think they’re looking for us back home?” Mirza stared out through the lone window.
Ancel followed his gaze. The twin moons hung low in the sky. On clear nights after a storm, if one saw the moons before they reached their zenith, their huge silvery-blue forms gave the impression they were close enough to reach out and touch.
“They must be by now. I’m sure my father’s people in Randane dispatched eagles,” Ancel said.
At least that’s what he hoped. But suppose they didn’t know it was him and his friends that the King’s men sought? Then word wouldn’t reach Eldanhill until too late. How long before the soldiers discovered what they did? He thought about his father, his mother, his classes, Teacher’s Calestis’ tutelage, and the long ride in the morning that comforted him so much. Would they ever see their homes again?
“I’m sure by now my Da has either sent men or is on his way to Randane himself,” Danvir said as he fanned the hot food with the flat back of an old chair.
“I’m worried about that too,” Mirza said. “None of our people are safe in Randane or anywhere in Sendeth for that matter.”
“You know what this all means, right?” Ancel said glumly. He stared off into the distance. “It means more war. To think King Emory’s involved with the shade. Wouldn’t it have been easier to seize us when we delivered the kinai? It’s not like Headspeaker Valdeen could’ve stopped them. Either way, they’ll all answer to the Tribunal.”
Danvir growled. “They can keep their bloody war. All I want right now is to eat.” His broad shoulders flexed as he ripped chunks of meat from the bone.
Following their friend’s lead, Ancel and Mirza went to the pots and prepared themselves their own meals. Before long, they sat drinking water and eating in silence.
Ancel found himself thinking about Kachien’s power again, and his own recent manifestations came to mind. From the way Kachien had grown weak from her Forging, he knew she would soon need to kill to appease whatever her power required as a price or she would either go insane or die. He shuddered to think what she went through. If he was to ever control what grew inside himself, he needed to practice in earnest. Tonight, he would begin the task until the ability to step into the Eye’s calmness became as easy as breathing.
After he finished eating, Ancel cleared old furniture and wood from the far side of the barn. He found a thin branch among some firewood. Using a rusted knife he’d found in the barn, he whittled the stick until its weight matched his sword. Satisfied, he stood and shifted into a ready position, his right foot forward, facing straight ahead. Most of his weight rested on his back leg, firm to the ground like tree roots. He kept his front foot balanced on the ball with the heel slightly raised.