The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

"This is blasphemy," Emalia whispered, staring at the statue. It was a rendition of Hazek, Keeper of Souls. To use his form as imagery for such a terrible weapon was a disgusting twist on the god's purpose. If that is his true purpose or just some lie someone told long ago, she thought, then immediately felt guilty for it. Best not to think of such things right now.

Emalia was one of many gathered in the small room. They'd left the festivities, she and Sovina, joining Daecinus, Demetria, and the two mercenaries named Wendof and Bowyer. The other mercenaries had been sent out, some guarding the door. The New Pethan Sorcerers were seeing to other matters. If Emalia knew Daecinus correctly, and she believed she did, then he would want to keep this from the Targul and other New Pethans for as long as he could. Not to mention any Sorcerer priests still in the city. She didn't even want to think about that.

It frightened her to consider what happened aboard the ship occurring once again. It wasn't just the pain but the fear of losing her own mind that made it all so horrid.

"Alright," Wendof said, pacing about, hands on his hips, "maybe I'm wrong here. Likely am, in fact. But why not just destroy the thing?"

"Destroy it?" Bowyer asked. "It's the most powerful weapon we could ask for."

"Sure, but one damn ugly weak spot too. What if someone sneaks a Sorcerer in and sets it off?"

"It would require many Sorcerers," Daecinus answered. "I'm not sure even I could do it myself."

"Even so. A few quiet ones get inside and, what, turn everyone within a mile into bones with an appetite? I don't think it's a good idea, sir."

Daecinus didn't reply but just looked at Demetria. He was waiting for her decision, Emalia realized, for it was not just a weapon, but bore a Soul of someone she knew.

Sovina leaned in and whispered to Emalia, "I agree. I don't like it."

"Me neither. But there could be something to learn from it. Maybe it could be repurposed."

"Hm. I don't know." She wore a frown that spoke volumes. Emalia knew what she was thinking before she said it, "After what Daecinus did in Nova… Or say that priest gets his hands on it?"

She shivered. "No, you're right." The others were talking about its usability when Emalia cleared her throat and asked, "Can you tell how much of Milta is left?"

That quieted everyone. Daecinus and Demetria exchanged glances, and the former seemed to concentrate on the statue for a moment before saying, "It is a difficult question to answer. He is dead and has been for centuries; thus, his High Soul is no longer present in any high concentration. He cannot sense or experience. It might even be incorrect to call what remains 'him' anymore."

"What if you're wrong?" Demetria asked.

"I'm not."

"Your sister seemed to believe there was more to Souls. What if she is right?"

"She's not," he replied firmly. Emalia's curiosity was piqued, but now was not the time, so she remained quiet. "Still, there is always the possibility our estimation of the mechanics of the High and Low is slightly off. If the High lacks the Low, for it is trapped here, then perhaps it upsets some sort of balance, but that is simply not likely. This is power available for use."

"It's not just any power; it's Milta's."

"And how would he wish us to use it?"

Demetria took a deep breath and nodded to herself. "To protect us. He would not wish us to waste this, wretched as it is."

"In the Column, that priest stole my Dead," Daecinus said. "I don't know how. Something to do with his connection to my Sorcery through our Souls when he inhabited me. We could repurpose this Artifact, strip its power, and use it as fuel for a new army, but committing to the investment before understanding how he did it would fundamentally weaken the advantage. We'll take this with us to New Petha, and once I have determined a countermeasure, I shall use it for Dead. Otherwise, it could fuel another Artifact's creation, perhaps. That is my proposal, given your concurrence." He looked at Demetria. In his gaze, Emalia saw true care and patience. A respect that surpassed anything she'd seen him offer another—she'd seen such looks in him before with Demetria on their journey together. It was humanizing in a way that little else could be.

"Very well. I accept this."

He nodded and turned to face everyone else. "Thank you all."

Emalia took it as the clear cue to leave. She shuffled out and sat on a bench in the loud hall with Sovina; already, the mercenaries were back drinking again.

Sovina and she sat quietly for a minute, watching the scenes of revelry and celebration as outsiders. In some ways, it felt like she was back with Oskar's band again, everyone keeping her at arm's length, unsure how to act. She was a Column priestess, tied to Vasia in ways they would never be. She felt distrusted because of it.

"Something doesn't sit right with me," Sovina muttered.

"Yes?"

"The temple here… The Sorcerer priests. I doubt that was all of them we fought on the ship. Or Protis killed. There has to be more."

Emalia caught on to her line of thinking immediately. "And why would they be keeping quiet?"

"Exactly. Feels like an ambush waiting to happen."

"They're not scribes, that's for sure. Do you think they were hiding a history and practice of Sorcery?" She considered her own question, then said, "They must be. Novakrayu used to be a new center of Vasian power, demanding military strength to hold. That must have bred a focus for Sorcery, and isolation can't have helped modernize them."

"That's a threat we can't let sit. We should tell Daecinus."

Emalia looked at the room where he and Demetria remained. "I don't know… I fear what he might do to them."

"Hm. What do you propose?"

"Investigating for ourselves."

"And then if we find out there's a few dozen Sorcerers preparing for battle?" Sovina asked, concern growing in her voice.

"I'm not sure." Don't lie. You know what you would do. "Well, okay. Maybe we try and speak to the priests. I could convince them not to fight."

That concern took hold, tightening Sovina's brow and thinning her lips. "They have no reason to trust us. They might not even believe we're from the Column after everything. It's too dangerous."

"Let's go see and decide there what to do."

"You've got that look," Sovina groaned, rubbing her head. "Fine. But nothing rash."

Emalia grinned. "When are we ever?"

They left quietly, which was easy enough, considering the plethora of distractions. One of which included a mercenary trying to drink an entire bottle of looted wine in a continuous gulp to the amusement of others. Yuck. The day was still early, and fog clung to the city as the sun burnt it away, promising a hot day ahead. They slid through the streets, taking alleys and side ways just to be safe, occasionally stopping so Sovina could scan their surroundings. No one followed them.

The temple, squat and almost totemic in appearance, sat without any appearance of occupation. No one moved about it. No sound or light emerged from its timber walls. Maybe it always looked that way, but now, its stillness seemed worrisome. The rendition of Saem perched on top, overlooking the city.

Emalia paused and thought for a moment, then said, "Every construction of importance built under the Column's supervision has a tunnel."

"This place seems newer, though."

It was true. The timber walls were aged, yes, but Novakrayu had been isolated for many decades. Far longer than the state of the wooden building would imply. "You're right. Still, maybe it's built upon an old foundation? How far away is the archive?"

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"Not far," Sovina replied. She had a better sense of direction. "You think there's a tunnel there?"

"It would make sense. The temple is already underground, somewhat."

"Let's go see."

That they did. The archive was a small stone building, almost nondescript, quite like the entryway in to the keep at Rotaalan they used to reach Daecinus's sarcophagus. No one stood outside the lone door in, but keeping a guard inside was not unlikely. As such, after some scouting around, Sovina climbed upon its roof and found a skylight there through a thick pane of warped glass.

She returned, and they met in an alley to convene. Sovina said, "No way inside through it. Not if we want to make some noise. Poor visibility."

"Can you pick the door? It has a lock."

"Of course. But if there's a guard, they may hear."

Emalia looked around. The archive was tucked away, and few people were out on the streets as it was. "Do it. I don't want to risk trying to speak to them to gain entry."

"What do I do if there is a guard and they resist?"

"Try not to use lethal force."

Sovina nodded. "Okay, but if it comes to it, I won't risk endangering us." She strode up to the door, chain mail clinking softly, and knelt to pick the lock with her small set of tools always kept on her. Emalia moved to cover her as best she could.

After a moment, the door clicked open, and Sovina swept inside. Emalia hurried after her, closing the door behind, then turned to look, for they had never actually been inside. It was no archive. The room had a few chests, which after some investigation, did hold a few scrolls and tomes, but the room was truly more akin to the one in Rotaalan. A locked entryway leading down.

They did nothing but lie to me ever since we arrived, she thought, then reflected on her hypocrisy. Still, these priests were hardly of the Column anymore. They might as well be of a different religion altogether. Sovina worked the gate open with her picks. Unlike the Sinking City's, this gate was maintained and opened without much need for force.

"No bones this time," Emalia murmured.

Sovina paused, seemingly startled. But nothing was ahead except darkness. Emalia frowned and observed her dearest companion for what could be wrong. After a moment, Sovina said, "It's almost like it was back then. A whole city at the mercy of a few. Daecinus and Demetria, these priests, the Targul, that Artifact… We're always overreaching, sacrificing the innocent in the process."

I blamed the citizens for their own deaths back then. For their complacency. She shuddered at her own callousness. How much of that was me, and how much was the priests' Souls' influence? That was a dangerous rabbit hole of contemplation, and besides, she'd grown a good deal since then. "It doesn't have to be that way here."

"It narrowly was. What if Protis and the mercenaries failed, and the priests took hold of that Artifact? Would they use it on the Targul? On their own city should it be taken?" Sovina shook her head in disgust. "They nearly killed you trying to take your thoughts, Em. We're not even in Vasia, and its obsession with power still has a hand here."

Emalia looked into the dark descent ahead. "That's why we have to stop them."

"To what end? Just to delay another catastrophe?"

"To make them see reason."

Sovina went to say something but stopped. Likely about how it was futile. "Let's see what we can see." She went off ahead.

Emalia knew Sovina wasn't upset with her. Her companion liked to put on a strong, untouchable front sometimes, but Sovina was deeply in touch with her emotions. More than most. When she saw injustice, it was a personal affront. She was just that kind of righteous, good-hearted person. Emalia admired her endlessly for it. But here, in the greyness of power and danger, there was no black and white. If Emalia had learned anything since leaving the Column, it was that. Can I really speak on such things with any confidence, considering my own inclination to reduce things to simple opposites and sides? she thought with a small sigh, wishing she weren't so hard on herself for once.

They brought no torches or candles. The descent was dark and quiet. The skylight from the false archive provided their only illumination. Eventually, the tunnel flattened out into a passageway of stone walls and earthen floors; it smelled old and dusty. Before the new temple was built, she identified, noting the wearing of the stones cut in a style matching other early Vasian designs in the city.

Sovina had her saber out, almost like a warding torch, pointed at the darkness ahead. A darkness that recoiled with the advent of distant light. A flicker of candles, perhaps.

"We're not far enough to be at the temple," Sovina whispered.

A secret room. Emalia took a deep breath and readied herself. Only the gods knew what lay ahead, now. She still ached from the Sorcery aboard the ship. If it were a more insidious Spell, she might be dead. Was she being too hasty coming here, outmatched as they might be by Sorcerers?

A wooden door leaking warm light from the space between it and the ground.

Sovina edged it open. They both peered inside.

A square room of stone some thirty feet across, the floor and walls made of ivory cut into tiles, with a door opposite them, likely leading to the timber temple. The room's center was filled with dozens of candles pooling wax upon the floor. A circle of around thirty priests in robes chanting softly. The air buzzed with something, only now undampened with the cracked door. Aided by candlelight, Emalia noticed the door was inlaid with strange carvings, in fact, most of the room was. This dampens the feeling of Sorcery, certainly. She fought the urge to flee in fear, a cold sweat already collecting at her brow.

The priests stopped chanting. All turned toward their door.

"Fuck," Sovina hissed, slamming it shut and backing away.

"Halt if you wish to live, intruders," came a voice.

Emalia froze, whole body twitching to flee, yet still hesitating.

She glanced at Sovina, who shook her head and said, "Spells are fast. Time to sway them."

Emalia forced herself to move forward with her guardian, opening the door, and standing in the entryway. Sovina positioned herself in front defensively, her marked saber held out and low.

"Ah, the priestess of the Column, Emalia, and the guardian, Sovina. If those are your true identities," a priest said. She recognized him as the one she spoke to at length in her visit to the temple. His name was Wracen, and he was one of the lead priests among them. Not quite their High Priest, for they had none, so they said. "You tread where you ought not be."

"Those are our true identities," Emalia replied with as much courage as she could muster, "but we left the Column on prophecy, and returned to find it astray. You, too, appear lost."

"Oh?" The room tingled with unnerving power. "You speak from an outsider's perspective. You know little of what necessitated our divergence from tradition."

"You've been abandoned, isolated, and under threat on all sides. Your voivodes and boyars have disappointed you, and so you must bear the burden of the city's protection yourselves. And now, you feel as if you face another threat you must answer with force. But even if you could, it would cost many lives."

Wracen left the circle, yet the tingle of Sorcery didn't fade. If he is a Sorcerer, how could Daecinus and Demetria not spot it? He smiled, as if reading her thoughts, and said, "I am the last of the three who remain. My fellow anointed priests were killed by your… companions. Though I lack the powers that they possessed, I understand its application better than most. Novakrayu has survived precisely because of the sacrifices that had to be made."

"What are you planning on doing?"

"Why would I answer you?" he asked, stopping two strides away. "And why would you believe me?"

"Because I don't want to see more die. I can't stop you, but I can try to convince you."

Wracen frowned, then looked back to the others. "Continue the casting. Hold it when prepared." The chanting resumed, Sorcery whirling like invisible snowflakes in a storm, striking her skin with a tingling cold. He faced back to her. "I believe you are who you claim to be. The others are not priests, but you are. It is in your very being. So, as fellow children of the gods, different though we ma be, I will extend our mercies and honesty. What is it you wish to say? You have but a few minutes."

Emalia swallowed. "Will you use the Artifact?"

That seemed to surprise him. He immediately turned guarded. "Which Artifact? There are many."

"I thought you would extend your honesty? The buried one, Wracen."

"So you've found it, have you?" He shook his head. "Matters not. Disabling its power would take too long."

"Even so, it will kill many more than just your perceived enemies."

"The price Novakrayu must pay for freedom and independence."

"What of the Targul?" she asked. "They aren't all in the keep, many will survive, and then become merciless."

"We can deal with the savages. They've no Sorcerers, you understand. We do."

"And how many innocents will die before they are repelled? How long can you hold under siege? They have an army. Yours is dead or captured." Her voice was turning pleading. Time was running out. "They will come in greater numbers and sack the city. There is no winning this time!"

"It is a risk many are willing to take," he replied stiffly, almost unmoved.

"A risk you are willing to take. What of your people you have sacrificed so much to protect? What of them? Would they prefer siege, famine, and war over peace under a foreign rule where they would not be isolated among enemies?"

"We would lose our very heart, Priestess Emalia." He shook his head sadly. "It is a proposition we have faced before, but the extinction of what makes us Novakrayuan would mean the cultural and spiritual death of the very city." He looked back, then said, "They are holding it, but it is straining. You have a minute longer."

Emalia searched for arguments, for reasons, clear as she could, to convey how hopeless their struggle really was. Then she caught a glimpse of candlelight off Sovina's honed blade. A flash of inspiration struck her, and she was too worried to wait and contemplate the wisdom of the offer before speaking. "What if I could ensure your temples would be respected and the people treated fairly?"

Wracen cocked his head to the side. "Can you claim such influence?"

"Yes! Daecinus and Demetria—the, ah, pale ones under different names—they negotiated an alliance of sorts with Targul—"

"On behalf of who? The islanders we cannot trust?"

"No! Themselves! They are powerful Sorcerers from the past poised to lead the New Pethans… I can be an envoy, a representative while they are away and ensure you are treated well by the Targul! It would benefit all interests to keep the city stable."

He took a step forward, eyes wide. "How can I trust this is no bluff? You ask for much faith."

The priests still chanted. The air felt frigid. She searched for something to say when Sovina stepped in for her, "I will remain with you. She will bring one of them and someone from the Targul. They'll agree. If there is a trap, you can kill me."

Emalia gasped and went to argue for a different compromise, but Sovina stared at her with such certainty and conviction that her mouth clamped shut. Trust me, the look said. This is my duty.

Wracen looked between them, then back to the circle. "Stow the Sorcery!"

Immediately, the air warmed and her skin stopped tingling. The ivory floor seemed to glow, oddly, and she realized they put the Sorcery into the very tiled floor for later use. Ingenious, but it also meant their channeled Spell could be used again, and likely quickly.

"Go," Sovina said. "Get them. Daecinus will agree. He'll make the han agree too."

She didn't want to go, but there was no other choice. Slowly, she backed away, not breaking eye contact with Sovina. At the last moment, before turning, she said to Wargul, "Don't hurt her."

"And do not betray us." He stood tall, yet she saw the anxiety in his expression. "Bring us peace, Priestess. I am extending my faith."