Darkness Rising (The Endless War Book 2) (13 page)

But that fear stemmed from more than only those creatures. It came from the strange, shifting shadows that moved in the darkness, shadows that none wanted to face alone. It was the reason the nya’shin brought fire with them and made certain not to camp in the open. Was that not the same?

Had she not seen the shadow man, she might not have understood, but he had a darkness, a cold power, that she believed.

How much had the priests really known?

“Why did you come here?” the man asked.

Ciara sighed. She didn’t know why the draasin had brought her here. “It was not my choice. I summoned one of the draasin and it brought me to your lands.”

“Then you are a rider.”

Ciara looked up and brushed a strand of dark hair away from her face. “I have ridden, but that doesn’t make me a rider.”

He narrowed his dark eyes, a crease over his nose deepening as he did. “You didn’t choose to come here?”

Ciara sniffed. “Choose? Why would I choose to come and risk myself? You think I would choose to leave my home, travel to lands so welcoming,” she said bitterly, “and be taunted by the darkness while strapped to this post? Yes, that is exactly what I would choose.”

“But you are of Rens,” the man said again.

“You keep saying that as if it will make it any less true. I am from Rens, but I am not what you think. I don’t know what you’ve experienced, but it’s not the same as what I know of my people. We are peaceful, wanting only to survive.”

The man straightened his back and shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“And I don’t either. Why would you accuse me of things like this? What do you think my people have done?”

“Not think. Witnessed.”

“You’ve seen riders?”

He nodded slowly. “They are fearsome. They sit atop the draasin, commanding them to attack. And when one of the draasin attacks, there are no survivors.”

Ciara struggled to believe it possible that her people would be riders. That was not the Rens she was raised to know. That was not the Rens her father described, the lands long since lost.

“Tell me what you know,” she said to him.

He hesitated and glanced toward the west. “I should not even be here. If Olina learns that I’ve come…”

“Why did you come?”

“I…” He shook his head. “You do not act as I would expect a rider to act. But then I saw you atop the draasin. I saw the creature as it landed, and you climbed from its back. Whatever you say, you
are
a rider.” There was a sense of awe in his voice.

“Are you disappointed that I’m not?”

He smiled, and as he did, the creases in his brow faded. She suddenly realized he was younger than she had thought, perhaps only a few years older than her. His eyes had a depth to them that most lost while living on the edge of the waste. Fas once had eyes like that, but they had faded as well. “If you were a rider, I doubt I would have managed to lead you to K’ral. You would have killed me long before I had the chance.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“I would like to know what it’s like to ride atop the draasin. Our people…” He sighed and crossed his hands on his lap. “It doesn’t matter. Our people are different now. We no longer know the skies as we once did.”

“Your people rode the draasin?”

“We called. Sometimes they answered. Sometimes they did not. Some could speak to them more directly, but even then, they were not forced as they are by the riders. They are elementals, and they should be free to fly without man to force them into their wars.”

“I thought you said the shadows were responsible.”

The man nodded.

“They are not man,” Ciara said. Whatever else he was, she was certain that the shadow man was not human. There was a cold and dark power to him that was unlike anything she could imagine. Only the power of the draasin rivaled what she’d experienced from the shadow man. “They are darkness, and they oppose the light.”

The man laughed. “You talk like Olina.”

Ciara thought of the woman’s staff and the carvings that were set into it, carvings that were so different than anything she’d seen, except also similar. The carvings reminded her of those her father had made on her j’na, and those he had placed on his. They were different than what the other nya’shin made, symbols unlike any of the lettering used by Rens, or even old Rens.

“I need to speak to her,” Ciara said. She had to know why the carvings would be similar. What tied her father to this woman in such different lands, both of which apparently knew about darkness fighting the light?

“Olina?” the man said. “You cannot. She is the one who wanted you brought here. She thinks you have come to destroy, that you will summon the draasin.”

Talking had helped clear her mind, and she didn’t think that was what Olina had wanted at all. If she had, would she have sent Ciara out into the darkness? If the old woman believed she was possessed by darkness, that she could summon the draasin and use them to attack, why would she have Ciara left alone where the draasin could be called?

Unless she wanted to know.

“Where is she?” Ciara asked. She drew in a breath, feeling strength returning. She lifted her head and looked around, searching over the grasses for the woman, but was not tall enough to see far. Her legs were still too weak for her to stand and her arms burned, but not as they had.

Ciara realized that wasn’t true either. It wasn’t that her arms no longer burned, but that her whole body did. It was as if the fire that had started in her wrists had migrated through her, leaving her awash in heat.

“What did she do to me?” she asked the man.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Ciara glanced at the sky. The streaks of orange and red hadn’t changed, even though the sun had come up in full. There should be nothing but blue, or white where the clouds obscured the sky, but she saw nothing. Even the grasses, once a vibrant green, had changed.

“What did she do?”

“Only what I had to.”

Ciara turned and saw the old woman descend from the sky. She trailed the cool breeze, and Ciara realized that the woman could shape wind, much like those of Ter.

“What did you have to do?”

Olina walked past Ciara, no longer as bent at the spine as she had seemed before, and reached for her j’na. Her hand ran along the surface, barely touching it. Unlike the spear Ciara’s father carried, the carvings on her spear were fresh and still raised. “You think I would not have noticed that you carry the mark?”

“What mark is that?”

“The mark of who serves the light. It is not commonly given anymore.” She turned from the spear and met Ciara’s eyes. “I have not seen anything like it in years, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still recognize it. It can be faked, though, which is why I had to know.”

“Know what?” Ciara was feeling stupid with her questions. She’d thought her mind was no longer muddled, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

“Whether shadow would claim you, and you it.”

Ciara thought of the way the shadow man had come for her and the way his cold touch had run along her arms, piercing through her. The woman had known and sent her out here to face him anyway? “Why would you do that? Why would you make me suffer like that?”

Olina tapped her staff on the ground. It struck the soft ground but still managed a loud
crack
that echoed across the early morning. “Why should I risk my people for someone of Rens when their riders have caused so much pain? Why risk the safety of K’ral until I know whether you will bring darkness and shade?”

Ciara sat quietly, rage building up within her at what the woman had put her through. Her breath plumed in the cool morning air, leaving a trail of fog that drifted into the wind. She took a few calming breaths, forcing the irritation away. “And now?” she asked Olina. “What have you decided of me now? Do you still think I will go with the shadow?”

Olina shook her head. “I watched the night.”

“You watched?”

The old woman took a step toward her and pointed the staff at her face. “You think I should not?
I
do not fear the shadows.”

“You should,” Ciara said softly. “His touch is like death. Cold and painful in a way that I have never known.”

Olina grunted and tapped her staff on the ground again. Again it snapped, echoing softly, the stone breaking free. “His touch is worse than death, Rider, but you have not learned that. Not yet. But if you wish to learn, you will. All that and more.”

Ciara swallowed, feeling her anger slowly easing, disappearing like her breath on the wind. “How will I learn?”

Olina tapped her staff a third time. This time, the earth seemed to crack with it, and thunder echoed in the sky. “Because another will teach. If you intend to become a rider, a true rider, then you will listen and you will learn.”

The woman turned away and started into the grasses, leaving Ciara staring, wondering what she meant. She glanced over at the man, but he had stood and pulled her j’na from the ground before handing it to her.

“You are lucky. Olina has not offered to teach anyone for many years.”

A
lena sat
in the dark tavern, wondering why Cheneth had summoned her to the Three Kings, a dingy tavern far from the tower. Volth had departed after she’d shown him where Issa disappeared—or died; she didn’t really know—and she’d returned to check on Wyath. Now she sat alone at a corner table, watching the noise around her as she waited for him to arrive.

How had he even managed to reach Atenas from the barracks? He was no warrior, not able to travel like she could, pulling lightning from the sky as she jumped. And neither was he a wind shaper, able to speak to the elementals, to call upon them to help him travel as Eldridge did. As far as she knew, Cheneth had no specific talent.

That wasn’t
quite
true. Cheneth might be the most brilliant man she’d ever met. He could see something and remember, piecing together parts of a puzzle that others might not even realize existed. In that way, Cheneth made her feel absolutely inadequate. It was something she was not accustomed to experiencing.

The door to the tavern opened and a stooped man made his way in, tapping along the wooden floor with a gnarled cane that matched the hand holding it. Alena turned away from the man and looked instead at the back wall of the tavern. A trio of portraits hung around the hearth, each depicting the old kings that gave the tavern its name. It had been many years since Ter had a king, many years since any other than the order ruled here.

A young boy scurried from table to table, offering drinks or laying out hunks of the stale bread the kitchen thought each person needed. Most in the tavern took it without objection and found themselves needing to order a drink to wash it down. She smiled to herself but waved him away when the boy approached.

“You are too conspicuous,” a warbly voice said.

Alena turned to see the old man sitting at the table next to her. “Am I?”

“One of the order doesn’t usually come to places like this.”

Alena crossed her hands on the table and leaned toward the old man. He smelled of aged fish and a hint of lemon. It was a strange combination, as if he’d come from working the docks of Garand, nearly three leagues from Atenas.

“How do you—” She frowned, studying the old man, before groaning. “I don’t think you disguise yourself nearly as well as you believe,” she told Cheneth. How had he managed to make his hands gnarled as well? Water and earth shaping could be used to create distractions—she’d done that herself before—but such shapings were difficult to maintain, especially when the focus was the shaper. What shapings would he have used?

“I think you’re the only person in all Atenas who might recognize me.” He hooked his cane on the edge of the table and leaned toward her as he smiled. Even his teeth looked worn and yellowed. “Wyath is restored?”

“You wouldn’t have summoned me if you didn’t already know.”

“Interesting choice, don’t you think?” Cheneth asked, leaning back in his chair. He waggled a bent finger to the serving boy, who scurried over. Cheneth whispered something to him before turning his attention back to Alena.

“What choice is that?”

“Why, Volth, of course.”

Alena let out a soft sigh. There was much about Volth to appreciate. Not only his shaping, but he had a warmth, whether he knew it or not. If only he could step away from the darkness that shadowed him, he might be… What? Useful? That was the sort of thing the commander would consider, the sort of thing Cheneth considered. Not her. She wanted to learn. That was her reason for staying in the barracks.

“You knew who he was, didn’t you?”

“You mean the Wrecker of Rens?” When she nodded, he smiled. “Of course.”

“Do you know his connection to the commander?” She lowered her voice as she asked the last. Mentioning the commander in a tavern in this part of the city would draw attention. Not all loved his rule.

“They were childhood friends.”

“Are you certain?”

For a moment, the harmless old man faded and Cheneth’s serious expression returned, a blazing-hot intensity that stared at her. “Yes.”

Alena closed her eyes. It would explain much about why the commander had sent him to the barracks but nothing about why Cheneth claimed they could trust him. Even Wyath agreed, working with him more than she had been willing.

“And you still think we should trust him?” Alena asked.

“There are many things that I think. Volth is important in ways I’m still not entirely certain of.”

“Why? What is this, Cheneth? Why the sudden push to”—she dropped her voice even lower and sent the last on a subtle shaping of wind that would only carry to Cheneth—“hold the draasin? What aren’t you telling us?”

The boy returned and set a plate of steaming meat in front of Cheneth. Carrots and radishes were piled on the side, and Cheneth dug into them.

“You speak to them. You know things are changing.”

“They grow frightened, but I don’t know why.”

“It does not help that Calan nearly crushed one of them,” Cheneth said between bites. “Nor does it help that the attacks persist along the border.”

“They won’t explain why.”

“No. I do not think that they will.” He took another few bites and then chased it with a swallow of ale.

“You know something more than what you’re telling me.”

He sighed. “Not with any certainty. There’s a reason I came to Ter, searching for answers to the war, seeking a way to end it. Now?” He leaned toward her, patting her hand as if he were her father, or maybe even her grandfather, as the serving boy stopped by their table again. Cheneth waved him away with a warm smile and then turned his attention back to Alena. “Now I wonder what I might have missed.”

“Missed? About the draasin or about the war?”

“Both. That’s why it’s important that we not lose any who are able to speak to the elementals. We offer a kind of protection, though they do not know it.” Cheneth leaned back and took another couple of bites. He glanced around the tavern as he did. “What do you think of this place?”

She snorted. “Were you thinking to impress me with your choice of taverns?”

“There are many throughout this part of the city who still claim a certain loyalty to the old kings. Most think it harmless, a relic of a time long past.”

“You don’t think it harmless?”

Cheneth looked up from his plate. Color flashed in his eyes, as if whatever mask he wore slipped, if only for a moment. “The bloodline of the old kings was powerful. Different than even those of the order. Scholars have long tried to understand why.”

Alena hadn’t known that. “If they were so powerful, how did they die out?” The last king of Ter sat the throne hundreds of years ago. Since then, they had been led by the council, with the head of the order sitting at the forefront. That person hadn’t always been the commander. That position evolved over time as the attacks increased and those of the order were tasked with defending Ter.

“You ask the same question that scholars have long asked, and I have no different answer than they did.” Cheneth tipped his mug back and drained the last of his ale. “You will return to the barracks now.”

“That’s it? That’s the entire reason you called me here?”

“Not at all, Alena. I have a task for you, but one that will be difficult.”

She didn’t like the way that sounded. Tasks from Cheneth were never pleasant. “What is it?”

“It is time for you to understand your connection to the elementals and guide Volth in his, even if it means freeing the remaining draasin. I need to know what the elementals know. There is something I’m not seeing, and it worries me.”

She frowned, thinking about what it would take to free the draasin. “Calan and Ifrit will know if I free the other draasin.”

“I think we can no longer hide. Not as we have.”

“Why the urgency? Why risk Calan learning what I might do?” Not only that, but if she couldn’t free the draasin without getting caught, it risked capture, and worse, for her. Then she would have to answer questions she doubted Cheneth was prepared for her to answer.

“Can’t you feel it?” he asked.

“I don’t feel anything.”

He sighed and set his palms atop the table. No longer were they crooked and gnarled. “I would think that your connection would tie you to them, but you might be too far from them to understand.”

“The draasin?” she whispered.

“We need to know why they’ve come to us to help.” He leaned close to her, and the scents she noted when he first arrived remained. “Why teach? Why allow us to bind and confine them? They know something but have not shared.”

“I’ve felt that as well, but what would the draasin need help with?” she asked.

“That is the question that keeps me up at night.” He took a breath, grabbed his cane, and hopped from the chair. “When you return,” he said, “you will see to the draasin. Release it if you must.”

“What of you? Don’t you intend to return?”

Cheneth tapped his cane on the ground once and turned toward the door. “I’ll return, but there is something more I must do. Find a way to keep the calm, will you?”

Alena stood and took his hand, keeping up the charade as she walked with him. Outside, the sun blazed brightly, reflecting off the tin sign hanging above the tavern. For some reason, it reminded her of the symbols used by the scholars to store shaping.

“How long will you be gone?” she asked.

“Long enough to find answers, I think.” He started down the street, leaning heavily on his cane at first but gradually using it less and less. When he turned the corner, he no longer looked like a grizzled old man. Now he appeared closer to his true age.

Alena realized she might not even know his true age. What if he held a mask at all times, disguising himself from everyone? He could be anyone if that were true.

No, holding a shaping like that would be nearly impossible to maintain. She had no reason to believe Cheneth would even bother. There was value in maintaining your identity, especially when said identity was that of one of the most intelligent scholars of Ter.

With a parting glance to the sign, she made her way toward the tower. Before returning to the barracks, she would check to see that Wyath remained well. The walk to the tower went quickly, and she entered through the lower level, unlike Eldridge and his secretive entrance, one that should not even be accessible. The tower was supposed to be sealed to shaping so that those living inside didn’t have to fear others attacking. It was meant to be a place of study, but nearly as much, it was meant to be a place of peace. If the shapers could be attacked within, the tower offered no advantage.

She hurried up the long stair at the center of the tower. She passed a few others, but none she recognized, and simply nodded as she went. Most were younger, wearing the simple white that marked them as students. Surprisingly, none offered her much more than a passing glance even though she was dressed in deep brown leather pants and a loose wool jacket that looked nothing like anyone within Atenas. Had she known, she would have dressed differently and attempted to blend in better, but she hadn’t expected to come to Atenas.

As she neared the healer floor, she realized she didn’t sense Wyath as she should. She’d made a point of focusing on his heart rate and used that when she sensed to reach for him, listening for a connection, for anything that would tell her he was still well, but there was nothing.

She stopped at the door and hesitated before knocking.

Oliver answered the door, pulling it open and filling the doorway with his wide form. His hands crossed over his massive belly, resting on it. “He is not here.”

Alena looked past him but didn’t see anything moving. “I can tell that he’s not. Where did he go?”

“He returned.”

“Returned? He wasn’t well enough to return. He should have taken days before he was well enough to do anything more than sleep and eat.”

Oliver grunted. “Yes. Healing like Jasn Volth manages is a different approach than the guild.”

“You knew about him.”

“Not about him, but we knew he was different. He had to be, given how precocious he was. Every healing he ever attempted was more powerful than some of our most advanced shapers. You don’t think there’s something special in that?”

“You didn’t tell him?”

“Did we need to? We wished him to learn. He couldn’t learn if he already thought he knew what he needed.”

“You couldn’t have taught him,” Alena said. “Not what he needs to know.”

“And you think you can?” When she nodded, he continued, “As you taught Katya?”

Alena sighed. “You’re the reason that he knows of her?” When Oliver made no effort to deny it, she jabbed at his thick chest. “We need him. Didn’t Eldridge tell you that?”

“So it’s Eldridge who leads you now?”

She bit back her answer, recognizing how Oliver fished for information. She’d been so long away from Atenas, she had forgotten the way some—especially those high up within the guilds—would attempt to reach for knowledge they were not meant to have. The scholars were the worst, using their stated goals of trying to understand the core of shaping to discover facts and truths that some would like to keep buried.

“What type of training leads to a shaper of Wyath’s pedigree being injured as he was?” Oliver asked. He smiled as he did, but it failed to reach his eyes. “What type of training takes the famed Alena so long away from Atenas? You, who could have sat among the council had you remained?”

She sniffed. “I never wanted to sit on the council.”

“No? Too many seek power and should not have it. You, perhaps, should have it but seek to hide from it.”

“I don’t hide,” she said. “What I do is important for Ter.”

“Yes. Training.”

She tipped her head. “Is that all?”

“Not in the slightest. I don’t intend to try to keep you here. I know that you’re far too skilled for me to manage that. Even Jasn has learned how to peel away the water layer, something he should only have learned from the guild.” He nodded to her. “That was from your training, I presume?”