Spin of Fate, page 33
Aranel watched in satisfaction as the air around Seirem rippled, then peeled apart to reveal the lotus of Kirnos amidst a field of cloud. With a flicker, a silver torana materialized in front of the tear.
“‘Vengeance and rancor doth make a soul weep,’” recited Seirem as the torana sucked him toward it. “‘That which thou hast sown, one day thou shalt reap.’”
“‘To unheed a crime, in itself, is a sin,’” said Aranel. “‘Intervention, if just, shall not slow a soul’s spin.’” He pulled out the vial of megarya blood he’d taken from Incaraz. “You’re not the only one who can quote the Aria of Ascension when convenient, Lord Seirem. And even if my soul does slow from this deed…”
Aranel dumped the blood down his throat, his chitrons singing in delight. “How blessed I am you taught me how to counteract it.”
Seirem’s eyes bulged as the torana dragged him through its pillars. “How do you have more of that? Did you bleed the megarya yourself? Or is it from that infernal woman’s supply? What do you intend to do, foolish boy? Are you helping her?”
His shrieks turned to silence as the archway disappeared and the universe sealed itself.
Good riddance, thought Aranel, glancing around the billowing mists.
There was no one in sight, but he was pressed for time. He didn’t know how much megarya blood Seirem carried on his person, but Aranel was certain he would try to reascend through the nearest torana—likely the one in Kirnos, which led to a spot a mile west of Ashkator’s base.
Assuming he’s able to scale Ashkator himself, I have a few hours at best before he informs the Preservation. Even less if these chitronic mists somehow alert them of his descension.
Aranel raced through the river of mist in search of the torana to the Void. The currents grew faster around him, pulling at his ankles. He realized that he’d reached the inner rim of the mountain. Here, the ground slanted down like Incaraz had—giving way to a vast caldera into which the chitronic lights spilled in a dizzying drop.
Aranel could not see what lay within the swirling vortex. There would be no better location for a torana than at the bottom, hidden from sight. And for him, falling down would be far easier than climbing up.
Drawing a deep breath, Aranel swiped his keiza and dove. He thought his soul would be ripped from his body as he hurtled down. The colored lights pounded upon him, inexorable, inescapable, snapping his chitronic flows before he could properly wield them.
Seconds later, the intense pressure lifted. Aranel steadied himself and tumbled onto soft grass.
He looked up to be greeted by the sight of multihued heavens, the sky a kaleidoscope of spiraling light. Beneath it, Aranel found himself in a meadow of such exquisite beauty that the palace gardens of Kirnos seemed but faded wastelands in comparison.
In the distance stood a lone hill ringed by fruit trees. And atop it was a stark white torana, its columns unadorned. Aranel had jumped to his feet when a velvety voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Ran? Is that you?”
Samarel strode across the meadow with a grin, his expression devoid of any wariness or hurt from their last encounter. Aranel noted he wore his Kirnosi breastplate over his Preserver robes.
Seirem, that old stone-soul! He must have assigned him today on purpose.
“It is you.” Samarel swept toward him and placed his hands on Aranel’s shoulders. “I heard from Lord Seirem that you’d be arriving today. Have you been well?”
“Well enough,” muttered Aranel. He wasn’t prepared to see his brother here in front of the torana. “You…were right, Sam. About Seirem, I mean. He tricked me.” He traced the unadorned sleeves of Samarel’s robes with a rush of relief. “You’re in the unblooded faction, then? So you didn’t drink to ascend?”
“No one drinks to ascend,” said Samarel, scandalized. “Only to remain. I’m glad to see you are well, and finished with that forsaken mission.” He ruffled Aranel’s hair, something he hadn’t done in years. “Mother’s been keeping your room ready. I thought you’d visit home first. What are you doing here?”
Aranel bit the inside of his cheek. Would Samarel not understand if he knew the whole truth? Would he not agree to help and come up with some sort of miraculous solution that had evaded Aranel?
“I want to enter the Void,” said Aranel, meeting his brother’s eyes. “I want to see the chitronic system that governs the realms and recalibrate the limits on the chitronic shields.”
He proceeded to pour out every detail of what had transpired over the past few moons, from his first meeting with Seirem and his interactions with his teammates to what he and Meizan had discovered in Zenyra’s secret chamber.
Samarel pressed his hands to his temples. “You are in over your head, Ran,” he said, once Aranel had finished. “Go home and get some rest. Mother’s made all your favorites for dinner.”
“Don’t just tell me to go home!” cried Aranel, stung. “Were you not listening to what I said? The universe is unbalanced, Sam. Everyone says it is the judgment of Toranic Law, but really, it’s just the chitronic shields!”
“And what do you intend to do about that?” asked Samarel. “We don’t know if it’s possible for the shields to be remade or recalibrated.”
“It is! Seirem let it slip that one could change the limits on them.”
“The current limits were set by the seitarius, the very beings that founded our realms. What makes you think that you, a seventeen-year-old child—”
“Eighteen! I can’t believe you’d forget my birthday.”
“You’re still a child,” said Samarel. “Once my shift ends, I’m going to have a word with Lords Kyrian and Seirem both to ensure you stay out of this.”
“It’s too late for that!” Aranel grabbed his brother’s arms, glowering up at him. “You can’t expect me to simply forget about everything! The Malini deserve a better life, Sam! They deserve more chances at happiness!”
“Your attachment to this Meizan is stopping you from thinking clearly.”
“It’s not only about Meizan! You didn’t see those children, Sam! There was a two-year-old boy, and he was all alone, and—”
Aranel broke off, at a loss for words. His brother was supposed to be kind and generous. How could Samarel of all people be so narrow-minded?
I was like that once as well, Aranel reminded himself. I thought the Malini were devils who deserved to suffer. Sam hasn’t seen what I have.
“The current chitronic system was made by the seitarius,” said Samarel. “By the gods. By doubting the system, you are doubting the gods.”
“Of course you’d say that!” Aranel ground his teeth together. “The current system favors you, after all. It’s favored you since birth. Even amongst the Mayani, you were always considered flawless. Perfect.”
“I’m not—”
“But it’s a broken system! A corrupt system that should have never been allowed to exist. You’re too brainwashed by the Preservation to see it.”
“Ran, even if the system were less than ideal, there’s no way you could fix it by yourself. What do you wish to do upon storming into the Void?” Samarel raked a hand through his hair. “Do you think you can change things merely out of sheer will? Even if the shields could, in theory, be recalibrated, the amount of energy and skill that would require is far beyond your ability or mine.”
“I’m sure Zenyra can find a way to—”
“That woman is dangerous!” Samarel’s eyes flashed, and Aranel took a step back. His brother seldom raised his voice. “You said it yourself! How many of her own so-called comrades has she sacrificed? How many erasures has she caused?”
“I don’t agree with her methods,” said Aranel. “But Zenyra’s intentions are honorable, and the Preservation are just as unforgivable for perpetuating an unfair system. If I can convince her to recalibrate the shields instead of breaking them down—”
“You will not be convincing Zenyra of anything,” thundered Samarel. “You will stay far away from her.”
“But the chitronic system!”
“I do not care! You are my brother, Aranel. I will not let you endanger your soul by partaking in that woman’s unhinged plans. And I certainly will not let you near the Void.”
Samarel slid into a defensive position, and Aranel wanted to scream.
In all these years, Aranel had never come close to defeating his brother in a spar—and that was with Samarel going easy on him. If his brother went all out, Aranel was certain the chitronic prodigy would decimate him in moments.
But Samarel wouldn’t go all out. Not against him. And that was Aranel’s one advantage.
“Go home, Ran,” said Samarel, an edge to his velvety voice. “Don’t force my hand.”
“Make me,” retorted Aranel, reaching for his sword.
But Samarel was faster. Golden energy shot from his palms to rope around Aranel.
“Must we do this?” asked his brother with resignation. “A spar between us will only ever end in one outcome.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Aranel wrested an arm free of the binds. “We haven’t faced off in a while, and I’ve learned some new tricks.”
He swiped his keiza and loosened a blast of chitrons, breaking himself free. Aranel leaped three paces back as Samarel watched, unbothered. Almost lazily, his brother flicked a finger.
Aranel cursed as the meadow erupted beneath his feet. Samarel lifted his arms to draw forth the ground and raise hills to entrap him.
Streaming chitronic energy to his sword, Aranel mounted the blade and took to the sky. He skirted over the hills and fired a volley of stun beams at his brother. Samarel wove through them deftly, his movements swift and precise, as the grass around him exploded in flames.
“Is that a Balancer technique?” asked Samarel. He molded a shield from the dirt and sprung aboard, riding the wind until he was directly above Aranel.
They darted through the air like a pair of dueling hawks and exchanged blows whenever the other swooped close.
Samarel leaped off his shield to swing down with a foot. Aranel raised an arm to counter, but his brother changed direction midswing, and rotated to hit him square in the chest.
Pain wracked Aranel’s bones as Samarel unleashed a barrage of kicks with infuriating speed—impossible to dodge, much less retaliate.
Even the Balancer techniques are no good against him, realized Aranel, as he was knocked off his sword and sent crashing into the ground. His brother was simply too fast.
A lattice of tree roots wrapped around Aranel like a shroud. Samarel glided in front of him, back on his shield, with not a strand of hair out of place.
Aranel felt a mixture of admiration, annoyance, and embarrassment. Just how much had Samarel held back all these years? And how much was he restraining himself still?
Aranel spent the next few minutes trying to land a hit on his brother, his every effort nullified. Samarel read Aranel’s pattern of attacks and manipulated the chitrons before Aranel had a chance.
“Give it up, Ran,” he said, sending the branches Aranel had summoned whipping back at him. “I taught you all of that.”
Samarel was right. Aranel’s usual attacks may have worked against enemy soldiers, even Meizan and Aina—but they would never fool his brother. He needed to do something different. Unpredictable.
Aranel drew upon his chitrons once more, gathering heat from the still-flickering flames kindled by his missed stunners. The tree roots around him withered to ash, and Aranel broke free of his prison. The river behind Samarel reared up in fury, then shaped itself into a hundred watery swords.
Samarel snapped his fingers. The swords merged to form a giant watery gazarou that doused the flames and sped toward Aranel, its gaping maw large enough to swallow him whole. Aranel’s chitrons reared, and the gazarou melted into a nagamor that twisted around to dive at his brother.
“Learn that in Malin?” Samarel leaped aside as the nagamor crashed to the earth with a great splash.
Aranel did not answer, focused solely on his channeling. The chitrons here were more malleable than those of Mayana. Aranel conjured a fireball three times the size of any he would have been able to create in his own realm.
But with a flick of his fingers, Samarel turned the fireball into a flurry of fireworks. The grassy walls Aranel raised around him disintegrated into storms of flower petals.
“You cannot win against me, Ran. You have a decade’s worth of training ahead before you come close.”
Samarel’s voice held no disdain, yet it infuriated Aranel further. “We’ll see about that,” he said. “You’re not always right, you know. Certainly not about this.”
So far, Samarel had relied primarily on hand-to-hand combat when dealing damage. While his attacks had been effective, they had caused minimal harm to Aranel. Samarel’s pure chitronic moves—while impressive—had focused on blocking, trapping, and neutralizing.
What Aranel needed was for his brother to unleash one of his hard-hitters. A chitronic move so devastating it would drain his reserves and knock Aranel out in one blow.
I’ll have to go all out myself then…
Aranel’s chitrons gushed out of him in torrents until he was left reeling with dizziness. He hadn’t attempted this type of mass channeling before. He’d limited his use of chitronic energy in Malin and had never needed to in Mayana.
Noticing the buildup of chitrons, Samarel took a step back and swiped his keiza once more. “Shall we end it, then?” he asked. “I am sorry it has come to this.”
“Don’t hold back on me.”
“But you’ll miss dinner.”
“And stop treating me like a damned child!” Aranel slammed his hand onto the dirt.
The chitrons of Paramos surged forth, the meadow rippling around him. A humanoid mass burst from the earth to crash through the grove and lunge at Samarel.
“Sorken almighty, please lend me your strength,” murmured his brother, eyes closed and palms aglow with bright energy.
The heavens above gave a roar, and the vortex of colored light twisted into a tornado. It swelled in size by the second, siphoning the lights of Ashkator into its funnel, until it had grown powerful enough to suck Aranel’s creation into its depths.
Gritting his teeth, Aranel sank his chitrons into the ground to keep from being swept away.
Then the tornado spun into the form of an enormous beast with four heads, each shaped like one of the seitarius. Glowing golden threads extended from Samarel’s hands, linking him to the creature. Samarel flicked his fingers, and the threads went taut. The shimmering beast bounded forth with a roar that set every chitron of Aranel’s soul atremble with an awestruck fear.
Just how strong are you, Sam? wondered Aranel, as the beast crashed down in a deluge of light.
This attack would knock him out with a single hit. It would suck him dry of his energy and leave him exhausted for days. Unless, somehow, Aranel escaped the brunt of it.
There was only one way to dodge something so vast. Aranel squeezed his eyes shut and projected out of his body as the world exploded in colored light.
* * *
Aranel watched Samarel sink to the ground. His brother’s breaths came hoarse and ragged. Controlling the chitrons of Ashkator had taken a toll on Samarel. Aranel had never seen him look so spent.
He felt a flicker of pride that he’d come out of the encounter conscious—if his soul being outside his body counted as consciousness.
Semantics aside, I endured it.
Aranel’s own form lay battered in the depression Samarel’s attack had made, but he hadn’t lost any chitronic energy trying to withstand it.
Aranel returned to his body and hissed in pain. Even though Samarel had stopped his chitrons from causing serious physical injury, Aranel felt as though his muscles had been shredded. But the pain was fading rapidly.
Aranel cracked an eye open to see his brother kneeling beside him, hands glowing with energy. He almost smiled at the absurdity of it all. Of course the first thing Samarel would do after nearly destroying him was heal his every bruise.
Aranel lay there and allowed his brother to fuss over his various injuries. Samarel’s hands began to shake. The previous attack had taken a lot out of him, and this healing even more. He was on the brink of exhaustion, just as Aranel had hoped.
Once his body felt sufficiently recovered, Aranel opened both eyes to meet Samarel’s worried ones. “Thank Sorken,” said his brother, sending chitrons to bind Aranel’s arms to his side.
The sly jerk. He thinks I’m drained of energy but still doesn’t trust me.
“I overdid it, Ran,” said Samarel. “Will you forgive me?”
“Sam—” Aranel coughed. “My ribs—”
Immediately, the binds lessened in pressure. Aranel surged upright in one fluid motion, grabbed a kapizer spine from his pocket, and shoved it through the gap in Samarel’s breastplate.
His brother wheezed, eyes fluttering. “What…why…”
“Don’t worry about me, Sam,” said Aranel as his brother struggled to stay awake. “I can take care of myself.”
He laid Samarel’s head on the ground before leaping to his feet and dashing toward the white torana.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Four Realms
“Found her.” Meizan collapsed at the chief’s feet, gasping for air. “Boat—Mir Tamasa—southeast of Martharan—”
Kanna knelt beside him and patted him on the back.
“M’fine,” Meizan heaved. “Just tired.”
It wasn’t a lie. He was exhausted to the bone but fine otherwise. Not like the times he’d channeled and felt the depravity of Malin wrap around his soul. His mind remained clear despite the projection.
Waking up with his foot submerged in a pool of megarya blood probably had something to do with it. Meizan had bolted away from the cursed liquid and dragged himself back to the nearby cavern Kanjallen was using as a hideout. He’d vomited thrice along the way.
