Chains of Mist (33 page)

The encounter had left Lerana and the others shaken. Never before had they been so thoroughly overpowered, so completely helpless—and within their own lands, no less. Even now she shuddered at the memory. It was as if she were a small child again, back before the Awakening of her power, huddled frightened and alone in the dark.

The next day, the
Jo’ma
had called a gathering of the
to’laka
. Lerana knew that she would never forget what had been uttered there. The words would echo forever in her mind, burned into her soul.

The
Jo’ma
stood before them, tall and terrible and magnificent. Her voice was like autumn thunder. “My children. You have many questions, and I have the answers you seek. In my spirit form I have journeyed to the Kastria village. Within its walls I felt a nexus of power. I cannot tell its source, but it is obvious that the Kastria have found a new weapon, a weapon of great and terrible fury. They will seek to use this power to grind us into dust, to erase us from the face of the world. We have no choice but to act. We must destroy them before they can strike against us.”

The dark-bearded man seated three to Lerana’s right asked the question that was on all of their minds. “How, revered
Jo’ma
?”

The
Jo’ma
turned towards him. “Do you remember the scar-faced man we saw in our
e’tana
six days ago?”

“Of course, revered
Jo’ma
.”

“He is the key.” The
Jo’ma
paused briefly before continuing. “I believe that he is no mortal man. His power is far too great.”

The man shifted uneasily, his tattoos writhing and twisting as he moved. “But if he is not mortal, then what is he? Do you think him a god returned to us, like Ja’nal among the Helion?”

“I do. But he is not Ja’nal.” The
Jo’ma
raised a bony finger in rebuke. “He is the Demon Prince, returned to Human flesh.”

A sharp rush of sound split the air as fourteen to’laka drew in a collective breath. Fear lanced through Lerana, and she had to clench her fists to keep her hands from trembling. The Demon Prince! A’Cheran himself, the Lord of Darkness, the Devourer of Souls. Her mind flew back to the legends her father had told her in her youth. Wherever the Demon Prince walked, chaos and destruction followed.

Yet even as terror threatened to overwhelm her she felt a strange thrill surge from somewhere deep within. The Demon Prince was an infernal creature of boundless evil, but he was still a god. He held divine power—power to dwarf anything she had ever seen or imagined. With such an ally, the Traika would be unstoppable. They would sweep over their enemies, bathing their villages with a river of blood. None would survive.

And the Traika would finally know peace.

The slender woman two to Lerana’s left, her dark eyes like chips of cold stone, spoke next. “Are you sure, revered Jo’ma?”

“I am,” the old woman replied.

Silence dropped over them, as thick as morning fog off of A’chen’has. Fourteen sets of eyes watched the
Jo’ma
, their owners scarcely breathing, tension rippling among them like an ocean wave.

The
Jo’ma
looked back at them with a gaze of fire and majesty, staring deep into their souls. “This is a sign, my children. An omen showing us the path that we must take. Ja’nal has been unable to deliver us victory. The Rules of Den’ja have brought our people only death and despair. It cannot continue. We all know what must be done. The gift of A’Cheran must be awakened.”

Dread seized Lerana in an icy fist. She recalled the tale of the Demon Prince and the Latikana tribe. The Latikana had beseeched A’Cheran for power, and the Demon Prince had told them of an ancient ritual which would release the darkness chained within them. An ancient and terrible ritual that had given them power, but in return had stolen their very souls. “You cannot! You—”

The
Jo’ma
slashed a withered hand downwards, cutting off Lerana’s plea. “We will do what we must,” she snarled. “We will save our people.”

Lerana fell into stunned silence. The
Jo’ma
seemed to transform before her eyes, becoming something savage and inhuman. Wrinkled hands elongated to scything claws and her face twisted into a grotesque visage. Lerana’s thoughts returned to the Latikana of legend. The ritual to A’Cheran required a Human sacrifice. Nor would simply any victim suffice—the Demon Prince demanded a soul of exceptional power.

In the legend, the Latikana had sacrificed their
Jo’ma
to enact the ritual. But the old woman did not speak like someone offering up her own life. In that moment Lerana realized the truth. “You will sacrifice the stranger.”

The
Jo’ma
’s eyes billowed with manic glee. “He will be a fitting tribute. And his death will serve a twofold purpose. It will satisfy the Dar’katal’s quest for vengeance. And it will please the Demon Prince.”

Lerana’s gaze swept over her fellow
to’laka
. They sat in silence, but she saw their thoughts in their eyes and on their faces. They agreed with the
Jo’ma
. Many of them even seemed eager to continue, practically seething to stake out the stranger and cut out his beating heart.
“We cannot! It is not our way. We do not—”

“Our way?” Anger made an ugly mask of the
Jo’ma
’s wizened face. The terek on her shoulder loosed an earsplitting cry of raw predatory fury. “Our way has seen us hunted and hounded, our warriors slain, our lands burned. Our way is the way of the weak, of the coward. It is time for us to cast it aside. The Demon Prince walks this world, clothed once again in living flesh. He offers us the strength to destroy our enemies. And we shall take it!”

Lerana said nothing. There were no words above the horror coursing through her soul.

The
Jo’ma
’s voice rolled out deep and terrible like a fenail’s growl. “Will you obey, my child?”

Lerana met the old woman’s imperious gaze. Lightning crackled in those emerald eyes, and Lerana could feel her skin tingling under the fury of the old woman’s power. She swallowed, and that action loosed her tongue. Her voice betrayed none of her inner turmoil. “I will, revered
Jo’ma
,” she said.

When Lerana had said those words, she had meant them. She was a
to’lak
of the Traika, an obedient disciple of the
Jo’ma
. She had a sacred duty to protect her people, no matter the cost to herself.

But now, as she looked towards Kil’la’ril, she was no longer sure. She had searched her
e’tana
for guidance. She had prayed to Ja’nal for wisdom. But she had found no answers. All of her doubts and fears still remained.

It seemed as if she stood at a crossroads. On one path lay the Kastria, their spears sharp and cruel, their faces twisted with greed and fury, their mighty new weapon wreaking death upon the Traika. On the other strode the scar-faced man, majestic and terrible, the blood-red gemstone in his palm rippling with waves of divine fury. The Demon Prince held the power to save Lerana’s people…but at a terrible price. An unfathomable price which, once paid, could never be undone.

In her heart, she knew that one path led to salvation and peace for the Traika. The other would leave them in smoking ruin.

But in both directions she saw only fire and shadow and death.

-16-

When Roger next saw Lerana, the shaman looked very uneasy, her eyes darting to and fro as if afraid someone was watching her. She did not sit, and her posture was that of a skittish wild animal prepared to bolt at any moment. “I must be brief, Roger,” she said. “The
to’laka
would not be pleased if they knew that I was talking to you.”

Roger was immediately worried.
Something’s changed, and that can’t be good for me.
“Why is that?”

Lerana shot a wary glance over her shoulder. “Something has happened. One of our outposts has been attacked and destroyed. When our scouts arrived to examine the wreckage, they found strange scorch marks on some of our dead, as if a tiny fire had seared straight through their flesh. We
to’laka
expanded our senses to find the source of this new power, and we felt a nexus of energy within the village of the Kastria. Like your power, only more
active
. A weapon, rather than a shield. A weapon that may be strong enough to defeat us.”

When Lerana had said ‘strange scorch marks’, Roger had immediately thought of particle beam wounds.
But that can’t be right.
“So what does that mean?”

“It means that the war has escalated faster than I had anticipated. If the Kastria have this power, it will not be long before they bring it all the way to our village.”

Lerana paused, and Roger, sensing that the shaman wasn’t finished, didn’t say anything. “But that is not what worries me, Roger,” Lerana continued softly. “What worries me is what
we
will do in response.”

Roger felt a chill run down his spine. “What do you mean?”

Lerana glanced again over her shoulder before replying. “There are ways to…
augment
…our power—to fully harness the energies of Kil’la’ril. Dark paths which we can tread, at the end of which lies power beyond our wildest dreams.” She paused, and her expression became grim. “Paths that, even in our darkest moments, we had never contemplated walking. Until now.” Her eyes narrowed. “What we unleash will destroy our enemies. But I fear that the cost will be our very souls.”

Fear jolted through Roger, but he had to ask. “What will you do?”

Again, Lerana was slow in replying. “Within all of us, there is light and dark power. Long ago, our ancestors chose to walk the path of the light, and so the Sky Lord Ja’nal placed within all of us a barrier holding the darkness at bay. It is still there, but trapped, held where it cannot control us and where we cannot access it. There is a ritual to the Demon Prince, A’Cheran. It will break the barrier within us. It will let us harness our full power.” She bowed her head. “With this new power, we will destroy the Kastria. But it will not stop there. Once the barrier is down, it cannot be put back…and I fear what will happen to us then.”

The way the shaman spoke sent a terrible shiver of fear through Roger. Suddenly, his thoughts flashed back to the shadow creature on Pattagax.
Could that be the fate that awaits them if they go through with this?
“Why would the
kat’ara
agree to this?”

“I fear they do not see the danger,” said Lerana sadly. “They see that our enemies have harnessed new power and seek to respond in kind. They are emboldened by the power of Kil’la’ril. They think themselves invincible, incorruptible.” She sighed. “Or perhaps they simply do not care. I do not know…but it does not matter. They have agreed…and the ritual
will
take place.”

The shaman sounded utterly defeated.
She can’t stop it
, realized Roger.
Or, deep down, she doesn’t want to stop it. The part of her that has submitted to the power of Nembane Mountain is growing stronger. For now, she still resists…but only barely.
“Why are you telling me this?”

Lerana flinched before Roger’s gaze. “The ritual…it is a blood ritual. Requiring Human sacrifice. The stronger the ritual, the more powerful the sacrifice needs to be. According to legend, the Demon Prince demands the blood of the eldest of the
to’laka
. However, many of the
to’laka
suggested an alternative…and the
kat’ara
agreed.”

Roger’s blood ran cold.
Oh, stek.
“They want me.”

“Yes.” Lerana’s voice was despairing. “They are no longer interested in finding out who you are or why you are here. All they know is that your magic is powerful, and that your sacrifice would please the Demon Prince. Once you are dead, they can take the ring from your corpse, and use its powers for themselves.” She lowered her eyes. “I am sorry, Roger. It shames the Traika to do this…but I think that I am the only one who still sees this. The rest of them see only the power this ritual will bring us. Their eyes have become closed by their own greed. We have lost the path. And we have lost ourselves. I am sorry.”

The shaman turned to leave, and Roger realized that once she was gone she probably wouldn’t come back.
And the next person I see will be my executioner.
“You can still end this, Lerana! Release me—stop the ritual from happening! It’s not too late—”

“It is too late, Roger.” There was no anger in the shaman’s voice, only more wearied resignation. “If releasing you would stop the ritual, I would do it, but it will not. We would simply choose another victim. I sympathize for you, and I do not want to see you dead…but I will not save you if it means one of my sisters or brothers will die in your stead. I will not defy the
kat’ara
when doing so will change nothing. You see, Roger, I do not want this ritual to happen, but I did not speak against it. None did. For the ritual presents the best chance to save ourselves. Perhaps, in it, we will lose ourselves…but without it we will die. And I will not see my people destroyed when there is something I can do to save them.”