Stars' Light, page 42
“I don’t know! I’m fucking telling you what I’m feeling. You asked.” She gasped for air and spasmed as pain rippled through her body.
Masamiria quickly looked behind her ears, but there were no black veins. He bent down and looked into her eyes, but no black veins there either. He had no idea what was happening. “Retribution, War Bringer, what is happening to her?”
“It is best we do not tell you, because what is happening has never happened before.”
He sat back in stunned hesitation.
“General, do something for her.” Lubos gestured, his voice rising.
“There is nothing I can do. I do not…”
Sarannya sat up and blinked a couple of times, disoriented. She recognized the wall and recognized that she was at the opening to Bosc City. It looked like shit. Run down, dilapidated. “What the fuck happened to Bosc City?” She stood up and looked down at the two swords on her hip. Her brows came together in confusion as she laid her hands on the hilts. She was surprised there were two of them, remembering Fire’s Shadow as her own blade.
Masamiria backed away from her with a questioning expression as Sarannya turned towards him with her normal awkwardness gone. Her posture was strong and aggressive, and both swords rested on her hip, her hands casually controlling them as if she was born to carry them.
“Masamiria. At least I recognize you. What the hell is happening?”
He frowned. “Ilenka?”
“Obviously, who else would it be?” She shook her head at him, spreading her hands out to her sides.
“You are not supposed to be here. Your time is long since done. You need to return to where you came from.”
“I made it back! It was successful?” She looked down at her body in shock and puckered her lips. Her thoughts raced as it dawned on her. She looked back up at Masamiria. She was not in her body, but another’s.
Masamiria stood in shock. He did not know what to say. He was looking into the face of a young girl that he had come to know, but her posture and mannerisms belonged to another that he knew very well.
“What is my name? I know my name is not Ilenka. How old am I?”
“Sarannya is your name now. You are sixteen years old,” Masamiria spoke quietly. He could feel that Kiril was coming. Masamiria quickly turned toward Kiril and spoke through the connection, “Stay there. Don’t come down here. You need to make sure the wall is secure. Sarannya will be fine.”
Kiril frowned and his eyes narrowed, but he stayed. He could feel something moving inside him. Something trying to come to the surface, but he could not quite grasp ahold of it. He knew that Masamiria was right. Whatever was happening with Sarannya, she would have to tackle it on her own.
Masamiria turned back to Sarannya, who was looking past him. “Aeneas. Did he make it? Have you found him yet?”
“I do not know, but…”
Sarannya looked up into the sky towards the sun, and frowned. “I do not have much time. Tell her that I’m sorry.” She moved into informal. “Tell Aeneas that I’m sorry. I don’t think it worked the way we thought it was going to.” Her speech began to pick up speed as she glanced up at the sun again.
Masamiria looked up at the sun with her, trying to see what she was seeing. He could see currents of light and energy moving around, but nothing more. Normally, he could sense when others were around, but there seemed to be nothing.
“When you see him, you tell him that he fucking left us.” Her face took on an angry cast and there was a great intensity to her grey eyes. “That he wasn’t fucking there for us. We made it on our own…” Sarannya collapsed into Masamiria’s arms. Her body spasmed a few times, and she gagged, trying to throw up what little lunch she ate, but nothing came up.
“I have you, girl. I and the General are both here for you now. You don’t have to do it on your own this time,” Masamiria whispered into Sarannya’s ear. Her body quit shaking, and her breathing evened out. He looked up to see the enemy taking the field. “Damn. Get her off the wall,” he ordered two men that were close by. He turned to Lubos, who was not standing far from him. “Lubos, you are in charge of Sarannya’s section and units. Don’t waste time.” He pointed at the approaching enemy.
Lubos stared for a moment at Sarannya. What would happen, without her here to help them? He was worried, but his instincts for survival took over, and he moved into action, yelling orders, glancing back from time to time, watching Sarannya being carried off the wall. That girl is worth a hundred of me, he thought to himself and felt a weight settle on him. He had committed so many crimes, how could he possibly atone for them all. “Well…” He looked around at the faces that were looking to him for orders, and to do the best he could to keep them alive. Men and women who were putting their lives in his hands. I will do whatever it takes, he vowed to himself.
Lubos drew his sword. “Archers!” He raised his sword high, hearing hundreds of bowstrings being pulled back. “Fire!” He dropped his blade, feeling the wind brush past him as arrows soared out into the enemy. Screams of pain and death drifted on the wind to him as the enemy pushed through, closing the gap.
Markos sent in waves of humans and Fallen. He had laced the lines to give his troops more protection. Chenda had been right. He should have just crushed them on the first day, and now he was in for a fight, but he had been hesitant of the General, of the great Jorian Tal. Was it possible that he did not care about these humans? Was it possible that the centuries and millenia had broken him down, and he was more like the Fallen than not? Today would be the day he found out.
“With me!” he ordered, pulsing out the darkness that he drew his power from. He began to move up the middle of the battlefield, stepping over the dead and the wounded. Giant demons trailed after him, standing nearly eleven feet tall. Their skin looked like living marble, and was as hard as that stone. Their eyes burned black with hatred and anger. They carried no weapons, but like most demons, their hands ended in claws, and were as long and sharp as sword blades. They were the perfect killing machines. They fed on fear and pain. They could smell it and hone in on it, like a shark with blood in the water.
Chenda moved up the battlefield towards where the girl and her troops would be positioned. She was using the Essences beside her Fallen unit to protect as many as she could from the arrows. She was not able to protect them all, but a sizable force of humans would make it to the wall.
She smiled, and nodded to her lieutenant. She loved the hunt and after today, she might even celebrate with her men.
Lubos watched, noting that a sizable section of the enemy were not taking losses from his archers. He could clearly see the golden horns coming closer and closer, and he sent word via a runner that a Fallen was coming for his group and what should he do? There was no way they could defend this section of wall against her.
Kiril knelt down, arrows flashing around him and striking his cover, to listen to the runner. He sent Masamiria the message. Masamiria sent back, “Go and support them. I’ll take the middle. It looks like Markos is coming. It is better that I face him than you. He and I have a score or two to settle.”
“As you wish, General.”
Kiril began making his way down the wall towards Lubos, and Masamiria moved into Kiril’s position and smiled. He was looking forward to seeing Markos again. Markos’s death would be a blow to the Fallen army. Aviel would be hard pressed to find another general as skilled. This would be one killing that he would enjoy.
Masamiria turned to his captain. “Captain. No matter what, you stay on this wall. You do not follow me or attempt to get me if I should fall. If I do fall, you are to immediately begin the retreat to the next choke point, making sure that you take Kiril and Sarannya with you.” A moment of silence balanced between them. “You understand?” Masamiria asked, his eyes starting to illuminate silver.
“Yes, General, I understand. It has been a pleasure and an honor serving with you.” He brought his hand up in a salute. There was sadness in his voice.
“Likewise.” Masamiria smiled at him warmly. He turned back to Markos, and the coming demons of the First Coil.
“We shall bring truth to them,” Light’s Truth spoke to him. The blade could feel a true battle was coming. A battle that had not been seen since the last Darkening, or the betrayal of the Light.
Masamiria drew his sword and his eyes fully illuminated. Brilliant silver runes flared to life along the blade, and light began to drip and leak, falling towards the ground, sprouting small tufts of grass and flowers as it landed around his feet. He drew in a deep breath, and the area dimmed around him. His Well was full, and he could feel everything and everyone around him, especially the dark stains and scars that were the Fallen.
He dropped down to the ground in front of the wall, landing easily despite the great height, and began to walk towards the enemy. It had been a long time since he had just been able to fight in the light, and not from the shadow. There was a bubble of dimness around him, light streaming into him. It seemed that he was encased in a haze of dawn and dusk. He looked hazy, masked in shadow.
Markos positioned himself behind the demon giants and let them off the leash. While Masamiria was distracted, he would use that distraction to strike him down.
The pass shook with the roar of the Giants charging forward, pushing past Fallen and human troops alike. They were still being contained by a small amount, so as not to harm the troops they were pushing past, but they could feel they were about to be released to feast on human flesh.
Masamiria kept walking forward as thousands of the enemy closed to break the wall. He bagan to pick up his pace from his walk, to a trot, and then finally breaking into a run as the enemy line closed within fifty or so yards of him. Flights of arrows hissed above him in torrents, punishing as they fell, finding weak points in armor.
He breezed into the front ranks, scattering human and Fallen alike. Ash began to rain and swirl in a nimbus around him as the very elements of creation rose up to protect him. Large rocks tore from the ground and whipped into the air, the wind pulling and pushing the enemy into compromising positions. Light’s Truth arced and streaked in constant motion, bringing death to all who stood against him.
Sarannya squinted against the light and put her hand up to shield her eyes. She was warm, lying on a soft couch near a fire. She sat up and put her feet on the ground. She noticed that she was not wearing her armored top and divided pants. She was wearing a very beautiful robe that looked and felt to be of Niparian make and Niparian silk. Her clothes were draped over a chair at the table behind her. Her War Blades were crossed, lying in the middle of the table.
She turned and looked at an open doorway, hearing the sound of a spoon hitting the sides of a porcelain cup. She was in a rustic cabin that had no illumination but casted light. She was so shocked by the casted light and the expense it must have been, putting it here in an old cabin.
“Good! You are awake,” a strong voice spoke.
Sarannya turned to see a man standing not far from her, obviously having come from the kitchen. He was wearing a black top, black divided riding pants, and a wide gold embroidered belt. He wore a beard that was a bit unkept, and it added to his strong features. All in all, Sarannya thought him quite handsome.
The man smiled at her and there was a flash of light in his eyes just for a moment. “I made coffee. I am pretty sure that you like coffee.” His smile was warm and affectionate.
Sarannya took the offered cup hesitantly. The aroma wafted up to her, and it smelled divine. In fact, it smelled like the best coffee she had ever had. She could not resist and took a small sip. The flavor hit her tongue and brought a warmth to her whole body. She closed her eyes and savored the moment. “This is amazing!” She sighed, her entire being relaxing. “Better than anything…” She looked up at him, noting the slight grey in his beard and the sharp brown eyes.
“You remember now, do you not; your first life. The Essence of Time was not meant for what you did with it, but I allowed it anyway. It was quite creative, something I had not foreseen.” He spoke conversationally and sat on the couch, facing the fire. “A lot of that going around during these times. You and Jorian are keeping me hopping.” He took a sip of his coffee.
Sarannya had the feeling that he wanted her to sit, so she sat on the opposite end of the couch, facing him, leaning up against the arm rest. She felt his penetrating eyes that seemed to look right through her as he looked away from the fire and focused on her. She wished he had stayed focused on the fire, but her memories were clouded, and she began to feel disoriented, as if someone else's memories were mixing with her own the more she stared at him.
“What is it that you want, Ilenka? What was your goal?”
Ilenka blinked a couple of times and then took another sip of her coffee ,and looked up at the One, savoring the flavor of the coffee. “I wanted a different life.”
“And I have given you one.”
“No! You put me in the body of a sixteen-year-old, who wants to learn the sword, but has no fucking clue on what she is doing.”
The One’s eyebrows rose in an expression of disappointment.
Ilenka’s lips pursed. “I’m…I am sorry. I shall curb my language.”
“It is not about your language, but your intentions and thoughts behind it. And I gave you a new life. A new place to make different decisions, to choose a different path, but it seems you want to choose the same path. If that is the case, why would you want a different life?” He took a sip of his coffee and watched her over the brim of his cup.
Ilenka sat for a moment, thinking while drinking her coffee. “I wanted a new life for Aeneas and myself; a life where we could do the right thing, a life where we could fit in. We could make different decisions, but not lose ourselves like we did before; I wanted to do it over, but better.” Her voice softened, and her body lost its aggressive edge.
“And, I have given it to you, Ilenka Perko Mirogen, who is becoming Sarannya Ivonia Tatara. And, as you know, Perko in the old language translates into Ivonia in the current pronunciations. She was named for you. You have a loving family, you will be able to relearn the sword, which you loved most, and you will have the teacher that you did not have before, but always wanted.”
“Zorian and my father were great teachers! Probably better than Jorian ever could have been!” Her voice held raw emotion, and her grey eyes were alight with anger.
“No, they were not. Saheth and Zorian were never meant to be your teachers. Imagine if you had been trained by the immortal that I made the Eighth Essence for. Imagine the differences in your decisions then. Imagine how the Eighth Essence would have worked for you, instead of how it did. The miracles you could have done. But, life is an amazing creation, and I gave it a will and experience of its own. And here we are.” He tilted his cup back and took a sip.
Ilenka stared back at him, her coffee forgotten, and her anger drained away. She glanced around the room, a comfort setting in. It really was her and Aeneas’s cabin. The one in Nipara. “This is nice. A nice touch. Does our cabin still exist?”
“Yes.” He smiled. “It has been well maintained.”
She ran the fingers of her left hand over the silk of her robe, while her right hand held her coffee cup. “I always loved Niparian silk.”
“You still do.”
“Am I still left handed?”
“No, you are ambidextrous, but you do not know it yet. Almost all children are trained to be right handed in this era.” The corners of his mouth turned up, watching hers turn down.
“I see that you gave me a more curvy body,” she mused.
“You always wanted more curves. You used to pray for…”
Ilenka interrupted him quickly. “I remember. Let us not go into those prayers.” She laughed. “She is a good girl, is she not?”
“She is.”
“You are going to ask me who I want to go back as. Either her, or me.” Her voice was soft and sad.
“I am.”
Masamiria wrapped himself in shadow for a brief moment. There was a dangerous mirth on his face as he watched the three giants stumble, losing him in the shadow. Their senses could no longer find the light that emanated from him. It was now diffused and hidden.
Light’s Truth scythed through them, columns of ash falling about him as light burst from him and shadow fled. The remaining giants turned, not realizing their enemy was amongst them. Two more fell before they were able to bring their claws to bear.
Masamiria squinted his eyes against the storm that he was kicking up. Rocks and dust mixed with mist and wind, and where the elements came together were arcs and flashes of fire. He moved in the eye of the storm, everything falling around him. He was already covered in ash, but his War Blade continued to move gracefully and with purpose, no movement wasted, everything in a perfect economy of motion.
Markos paused, not quite knowing what to do. His demons were being destroyed, and the humans and Fallen were afraid to face the spy, so they avoided him, moving around him. Masamiria had very effectively split the battlefield.
Golden command horns turned back, and Markos called the order, his voice intoning through the air near his Captains and Majors. “Charge the wall. All of you, attack the damn wall.” And then he waited patiently as the storm closed in, and waves of Fallen charged forward towards the wall.
Kiril paused for a moment in shock as the center of the battlefield erupted into absolute chaos. Arcs of fire, flying debris, and a windstorm that looked like a tornado. He could see Masamiria’s War Blade shedding light from the center. He turned his attention back to his, no, Sarannya’s section of the wall.
Her archers continued to fire arrows as the enemy rushed forward, heedless of the number of their soldiers falling and dying. He breathed in, absorbing in the afternoon light, and his voice reverberated around him. “The enemy is about to make the wall. Lubos, with me. Archers, begin to fall back to the next choke point. You know what to do.” Wrath came out of the sheath in a brillance of light. The weight of the blade felt perfect in his hand, and a peace stole over him. A peace he had never felt before in combat.
