Etchings of Power (Aegis of the Gods) (20 page)

Two weeks into the journey, Ryne still fought his urges to harm the woman. His bloodlust continued to hover below the surface—a caged animal mewling for release.

Mariel now trailed them along a sun-blasted ridge deep into Ostania’s Nevermore Heights where mist-shrouded peaks poked into the clouds as if the heavens stood upon their rocky shoulders.
Had the killings stopped since she left Carnas? What does she want? Better yet, why should I care what she wants? She followed me from home to here; I should just let my sword ask the questions.
Teeth clenched till his jaw ached, and knowing his feelings were a mix of his unstable control of late and his frustration at her ability to elude him, he kept his breathing as even as possible.

For all her tracking, Mariel still hadn’t made a threatening move. Even with this landscape, where if he looked back, he could see behind and below him for miles, she remained careful. The one time she almost wandered within range, he recognized her dark hair and the yellow shirt and trousers she often wore. A dark-colored veil or scarf covered her face. He assumed it served two purposes—hiding her and protection against the blustery wind.

The day was another muggy one, thick and heavy, the air itself pushing down upon them. Despite the mountainous altitude and the wind, there was little solace from the heat. Glancing down the long trail behind him at his mysterious follower’s tiny figure, Ryne wondered how she was handling the sun. Even his sandalwood skin color had tanned a bit. As if on cue, thunder rumbled, and a shadow crept across the land.

Ryne studied the skies, stroking a hand down the thin lines of scar tissue striping the left side of his face. They ran diagonally from forehead to chin and felt as if some beast had clawed his face several times. Maybe something did. He frowned, sifting and straining to find a fragment, anything, of memory. As always, none came.

Thunderheads boiled above them and blotted out the noonday sun. The air was laden with the scent of rain yet to fall. Ryne would welcome the storms if they arrived today. Two weeks had passed since the last one, much longer, and the next could be dangerous, bringing lightning in sheets, several feet of pelting rain, and winds that would snap trees like twigs.

Up ahead, a Harnan herder watched a flock of yellow, long-necked slainen. The six-legged creatures nipped at kinai trees along slopes dotted by medium-sized evergreen saplings. Fluff from the kinai littered the slopes in bunches. A few slainen uncoiled their snouts, reached up among the lowest branches, and picked pink fleshberries from entwining vines.

Ryne bit into the kinai fruit in his hand before he offered it to Sakari, knowing his friend would refuse. He smiled when Sakari did as expected.
One day, I will see you eat, my friend.
He still remembered the shock he felt when he’d asked Sakari why he never ate. The man’s response had been as cryptic as his persona.

“Because you do not see a thing does not mean it does not happen,” Sakari had said. “Do you see when the plants feed? No? Consider me as one of them. My sustenance comes from Mater itself.”

Ryne had found the statement hard to fathom until Sakari had him open his Matersense at dusk to watch the kinai trees. The leaves and bark spouted tiny feelers. They waved in the air and along the ground, drawing multiple essences as they did so. With the feeding, the fruit themselves blossomed a brighter, riper red.

Ryne popped the kinai into his mouth once more and savored the sweet taste and the brief euphoric feeling. Consuming enough kinai made him feel as if he could accomplish anything. He wondered if the trees felt the same.

“You wish for me to speak with him?” Sakari nodded toward the herder.

“By all means,” Ryne answered.

They climbed off the dirt trail and worked their way among grasses and small shrubs. Birds glided among the flora, twittering as they flew. Insects buzzed between triangular shaped abida flowers and white and purple mixta blossoms, the perfumes from the blooms lighting up the air.

Farther down the mountain, past gentle inclines, trees spanned into rainforests. From the mountain’s base, it would look like clouds topped those forests instead of mists. Harnans named them the Cloud Forests. Miles below and beyond the Clouds sprouted the Mondros with its multiple shades of green canopy. Wide meandering rivers, sparkling lakes, and the mirror-like glint from towns and cities dotted Ostania’s vast landscape.

Somewhere to the far east, close to the Rotted Forest, rose a pillar of black smoke. Ryne’s forehead wrinkled and for a moment, he wondered what could be the cause of the billowing mass before he returned his attention to his immediate surroundings.

The pale-haired Harnan man made a hooting noise, placing a hand on his sword hilt when Sakari came within thirty paces. Sakari’s strides did not falter or change once, continuing to convey a sense that not a muscle was wasted.

A rockhound, distant cousin to the lapra, trotted from behind a lone mahogany tree. The earthen beast appeared a mottled green rather than its natural grayish color due to growths of moss upon its body. Measuring six feet in length and sporting massive square shoulders, the hound grumbled at Ryne, its thick tail whipping back and forth. Stone chips rained against the tree trunk as the beast shook like a large dog waking from a doze. Golden-eyed gaze still fixed on Ryne, it lowered onto its stomach.

Inclining his head to the hound, Ryne slowed his approach in an attempt to appear as non-threatening as possible. The herder’s gaze locked on him. With each step Ryne took, the herder’s eyes tightened.

Ryne blew out a breath and gave a slow, resigned headshake. The herder’s wariness toward him alone was not surprising. Sakari always appeared as a native wherever they traveled, even down to his clothes. Sakari now stood a few inches shorter than the Harnan herder with a similar slight build, identical tanned skin, and pale, almost white hair. From a distance, Sakari could easily be mistaken for the herder’s relative.

On the other hand, I’m an eight-foot sculpture with tapestries painted upon it
. Ryne’s greatsword, added to his size, ruined any chance of a casual appearance.

The rockhound’s rumble increased to a cracked howl at Ryne’s continued approach, so he stopped long before he reached within fifty feet of the Harnan. Sakari sauntered toward the herder with no such reaction from the beast.

As was customary of late, a familiar itch between Ryne’s shoulders made him look for Mariel. The woman crouched on the trail above with her veil no longer covering her face.

“How are you, herder?” Sakari asked in Ostanian with a Harnan accent.

“Warm day, traveler,” the herder replied.

Frowning at another uncalled link to Sakari, Ryne turned his attention to the two men. The unbidden link was not the only strange occurrence that concerned Ryne. He repeated the herder’s tone in his head. Harnan accents bore a slight difference from typical Ostanian lilt. They stressed the end of their words and dragged them out. This Harnan herder did not; his accent was smoother, more musical.

“The Clouds grow well.” Sakari gestured beyond the slopes.

“Does that one follow you?” The herder nodded toward Ryne.

“Yes. He is the reason I am here.”

The man squinted at Ryne. “Strange tattoos he has. They live on him. It’s rumored Amuni himself sent his children to seek such as he some thirty years or more ago.”

Sakari shrugged. “So he has been told.”

“He doesn’t fear the children of the god of shades?”

“My master fears no one.”

The Harnan’s eyes widened, the whites making his black irises mere specks. “Not even the gods?”

“He respects the gods. Fear them? No. Why should he fear that which does not walk among us? Besides, he serves Ilumni. Why should he fear the brother of his god?”

“Dangerous words should the gods hear, traveler. All the gods should be feared. Anger one and our world ends.” The herder licked his lips, and peered around as if he expected something to jump from the air itself. Ryne chuckled inwardly at the man’s superstitions. When nothing happened, the herder let out a relieved breath.

Sakari gestured to the adjoining mountain. “Last time we were within the Clouds, we sought and found the Svenzar on those slopes. This time they are not there.”

“Yes. Rumor says when they could not find your master, Amuni’s Children unleashed death upon the Svenzar.” The herder’s jaw hardened as he spoke. “The Svenzar fled and called all the Sven back to the safety of Stone.”

The air about the herder shifted for a brief moment. His aura wavered before it became solid again. In that second, the man appeared different to Ryne. The herder’s body bore dirt and stone in place of his flesh.

“He’s a Sven,” Ryne said. He strode toward the man, ignoring the sudden rumble from the rockhound.

“My master will speak to you now,” Sakari said. “You should call off your pet. My master knows what you are.”

Sweat ran down the herder’s forehead. The liquid left a trail like water trickling over parched earth. He reached for his sword.

“That is not a wise choice, Sven.” Sakari’s tone never changed.

The Sven hooted to the rockhound.

With a snarl, the beast lurched into a hunched position, forepaws forward, back up, and tail rigid. Not once did Ryne look in the hound’s direction as he continued toward the Sven.

“I shall save you from yourself and my master. You will thank me one day.” Sakari turned to the rockhound.

Several hoots issued from Sakari in perfect imitation of the Sven. The hound whined and looked confused. It stared at Ryne for a moment more, then the beast stalked down the slope, slipping through grass and brush toward the evergreen tree line.

The Sven opened his mouth, and his hand touched his sword. Before he could unsheathe the weapon, Sakari’s foot thudded against the herder’s temple. The man dropped to the ground.

“I told you I would save you,” Sakari said in the same flat voice.

Ryne stood over the Sven. In the Sven’s own language, which was more musical rumbles than speech, he said, “I can see your Form, as you can see the elements within me. Drop the disguise and the pretenses. Take me to the Svenzar. They summoned me.”

The man’s aura wavered again. This time when the shift happened, his real form remained.

A creature of gray, hewn stone, with small cracks filled with soil, lay on the ground among the grass. It looked as if a stonemason had put together a life like statue carved from myriad pieces of rock using dirt for mortar. Strong, wet earth smells drifted up from the Sven.

“How is it you speak my tongue, man of many swirls?” The Sven’s voice was a deep rumble of rhythmic thunder.

Ryne shrugged, answering in Sven. “I speak every tongue. Whether a gift or a curse, I can’t say.”

The Sven righted himself. It was not so much that he stood, as the ground writhed about his feet and under his body, until he shifted upright and like some great pillar, he grew from the earth.

“Sakari.” Ryne turned his body so he could see Mariel on the trail above.

“Yes?”

Ryne gave a subtle nod to where the woman now crouched even closer. She’d inched near enough for him to read her. Light sparkled from her aura in varying, dancing patterns. He would always remember her now. “I don’t wish for her to see any more than necessary. Send the hound after her.”

Sakari bowed and hooted several times.

The rockhound bounded out from the trees and sprang toward the woman, dirt and grass flying into the air as its powerful legs and claws propelled the beast forward. In long, leaping strides, the hound covered half the distance to Mariel before she reacted.

When she did, it was with astounding speed. Her head snapped toward the hound, and she snatched at her sword, sprinting to her left and up the hill. But the hound closed in faster still, its huge body a brown and green blur that matched the surroundings. There was no way she could escape.

Just as the beast stretched within a few feet of the fleeing woman, she turned abruptly to face it, skidding through dirt and shale, her arms windmilling with the movement. Before Mariel’s body came to a full stop, the beast pounced, its jaws stretched wide, rows of white fangs closing quickly. In the middle of her slide, Mariel pushed up, somersaulting into the air and over the onrushing rockhound. Unable to stop its momentum, it crashed to the ground with a solid stone on stone thump, kicking up dust in its wake. Mariel landed, sprinted down the hill, and disappeared below a dip in the land. With a growl, the rockhound gathered itself, shook its body, and lurched after her.

Ryne could only arch an eyebrow at the display.

A basso musical laugh echoed from the Sven who now stood nine feet tall. The stoneform grabbed his stomach in his mirth, vibrations passing through him with every rumbling peal, dirt and rock chips falling from his body. The Sven’s eyes were smiling red pits, and his mouth nothing more than a curved slit. He had no nose or ears. His entire countenance now resembled cracked marble, shiny in some places and dull in others.

“She runs well for one so small,” the Sven said between breaths.

Ryne smiled. “Come. Take me to the Svenzar.”

The Sven nodded, and his laughter subsided. As he climbed the slope, his feet trampled grass and brush in their way. The foliage sprouted upright soon after each passing step.

They followed the twisting trail for several miles, past glens and running springs. A few times, they passed roaring waterfalls that cascaded from some unseen height. Overhead, ominous thunderheads still threatened. The white cliff they soon reached soared up into the dark blanket above. Vines and moss climbed the walls, and flowers in rainbow-like colors grew in erratic patterns all along its surface. A slit showed in the cliff face.

“Pass through here. The Svenzar will meet you on the other side.” With that, the Sven touched the cliff, melting into it as if he walked through a curtain of rock.

Ryne glanced at Sakari, who shrugged. After a deep breath, Ryne stepped into the slit.

All sense of balance and direction fled him, and he felt as if he fell a great distance in the dark. The bottom of his stomach dropped.