The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

Novakrayu had been close to chaos and revolt, but Emalia didn't know it until Daecinus and Demetria left, and she had a few days to study the city as more than a conniving outsider. The people were angry. They had much pride in their heritage, in the improbable but hopeful future. The unofficial Head Priest of Novakrayu, Wracen, helped her to see the undercurrents of tension in his rebellious act of Sorcery at first, and it was through this lens she observed the simmering emotion behind every closed household door. The Targul didn't help or hurt the situation, merely continuing to collect taxes and administrate the city as the voivode had before. They ruled like stewards, continuing traditions long-kept, erasing or changing little except all of it was fed into a building war machine by the southern Nadya river.

Kubalak was a second city of tents and huts, thin trails of smoke from smithies, herds of horses and cattle, and an army of men hoarding Novakrayu's surplus of food for the upcoming campaign. Nothing excessively taxing to the city, and yet, it drove fears for a world without Vasia—unimaginable to the poor people of this forsaken land.

And so, Emalia felt as if she had to do something.

She and Sovina spoke of it on a walk across the wall protecting the palace where they were allowed to stay on the han's behalf. It was dawn of the third day after the ships had left. Emalia interlocked her fingers before her, deep in thought, new temple robes swishing softly at her feet. "They need direction. They need hope but in a different form from their dreams of Vasia's return."

"I know what you're proposing," Sovina replied, stopping at an outcropping tower overlooking the city. A Targul guard nodded to them and shuffled aside, offering some privacy. Everywhere, they were recognized and usually deferred to. Typically, she thought, because Protis lingered somewhere nearby, but the Soulborne had been distant as of late. "It's a good idea. But how do you feel about the gods, considering everything?"

Emalia sighed. "Ekhenism was the spawn of a useful myth from Maecia. So what, then, of the Column's gods? Of our faith? What of mine?" A question for the void, not for Sovina. She stared over the city, watching it wake with the sun. "Typically, I would argue that such a new faith is bound to have false origins, but in the grand scope of time, the Column is young itself. Daecinus is older than it… I think it would be arrogant of me to claim absolution from skepticism."

"That's brave of you."

"Brave?"

"Yeah." Sovina took in a deep breath and turned to her. "Listen. None of this is simple. Or easy. We've been struggling with it in our own ways. But I ask because these people—" she gestured out to the city "—deserve some kind of certainty from whoever is to help lead them toward hope. You don't need to have the answers, but this can't be done with empty confidence."

"Are you saying I walk around with empty confidence?"

"Only sometimes." She smirked and bumped her with an elbow. "But I have faith in you anyway."

"No, you're right, though. About what they need. I honestly can't claim in good conscience any certainty anymore. How could I?" Emalia's frown twitched, eyes narrowed, then flicked about, following a line of thought sudden and potent. "And yet," she muttered, beginning to pace, "faith in Deus gives people strength every day. Even though we now know it cannot have any power, we've heard stories and seen sights of their faith invigorating and restoring beyond the mundane. It shouldn't happen, but it does. And then, even more curiously, there is you."

"Me?"

Emalia's voice rose in excitement as she came close and put her hands on Sovina's shoulders, saying in a rush, "Remember the fight in the Crown? How you resisted the priest? Well, that was something supernatural, right? Or some Sorcery? But you're no Sorcerer. You said it was when you thought of me that you could push through the Crown's effects when you were inside. That seems impossible to me. But you did it. How?"

"I don't know." She thought for a moment. "I focused on fighting it. On returning to you."

"More details, Sovina."

"Right. I felt the presence push in, like trying to take something from me or maybe burrow inside? It was painful, cold, and admittedly frightening, but… It was like when you stand in the blowing wind in winter and push away the bite of it. How you can imagine yourself warm, and eventually, it works."

"A matter of will?"

Sovina exhaled in a sort of squinting thought. "Yeah. Maybe. What are you thinking?"

"I've felt the gods before, Sovina. I've felt them." She glanced up worriedly, then whispered, "Say, hypothetically, they are concepts grown from human inspiration. We know they have power anyway. What if… What if it isn't divine guidance that gives such power, but stalwart belief?"

"Then it doesn't matter if they are real or not. Just what people believe."

"I suppose. Perhaps our Souls follow our will more than we ever suspected, and from that comes an undefined power." She winced at this. It was heretical, almost sinister in shallowness. "But if I don't believe that the gods' existence matters, then how can I believe with enough strength to make anything of it? I can't lie to myself. And I can't lie to those people."

It was a question neither of them could answer. They had no answers to such things. She was a servant of the divine, a priestess of the Column, guided by her faith toward a calling far beyond her mortal toiling. But that depended on belief. Belief ingrained since her second birth into the hallowed stone walls of the grand Wonder of the world. To challenge such belief was paramount to apostasy, and despite the claims made about her, Emalia was no apostate. She couldn't be. Misled, lied to, and exploited, but never once did she abandon her roots. This she swore to herself.

So now, faced with this conundrum, she felt lost. And yet, despite Sovina's warnings, she followed the calling before her anyway and began to work to change the city's priestly organization into something less defensive. Novakrayu didn't need Sorcerers, she would argue to Wracen, but leaders.

A week later, they were doing something almost certainly considered heretical by the Column's traditions: teaching the masses. It began with simple things. With distributing food to the hungry, gifted by the Black Han, Taraz, on condition that the masses listen to the priests' words of peace. She left the speaking to Wracen and the others at first, but eventually, she was pressured into it too. Everyone was curious what she might say. They knew she was of the Column, and though she took part in the deception that sacrificed their city, her distinction and contributions began to outweigh it quickly, shockingly. They blamed their own weak leaders more than anyone, it seemed.

Emalia was not one for public speaking, historically. She was not a charismatic diplomat like Demetria or sagely eloquent like Daecinus, nor did she have Sovina's straightforward, disarming honesty. She was questioning, needlessly precise, and had far too much trouble putting the complexities of her thoughts into spontaneous words.

And yet, looking out over the hungry faces sated by gifted bread, eyes still searching for something, she felt the urge rise up beyond all control. They needed honest guidance. Direction, perhaps, but comfort, certainly.

They needed that belief in something greater.

She was no natural. Far from it. Others were better, more articulate or emotionally captivating, and yet, once she started, Emalia nearly couldn't stop. Outside the strange timber temple, she stood atop a cart dusted with bread crumbs and spoke until her voice was hoarse and mind numbed to exhaustion. But the people—gods, the people!—they seemed to devour her worse, sating something deeper than the bread. And that look of nourishment, that new slight gleam of hope in their eyes, it fed something in her Soul, too.

She spoke of uncertainty, questioning, directionlessness, and how it wore away at you as the tide beat upon the shore, washing away what once was. There was no simple answer to that void. No solution to insert into the space between pages that would satisfy. How, in her years of service to the grand Column—a thing all listeners before here looked up to with wonder and insatiable curiosity—the only satisfying answer she'd found that had given her such wholeness of spirit was love. And what was love but faith grounded in wonderful, beautiful evidence expressed every day? The answer to her question of belief sprang to her then and there, before over a hundred anxious faces, stark as the dawn sun. Silly and naïve to some, perhaps, but so wholly undeniable to her.

Human understanding would always be insufficient to grasp the world's complex unknowns. Whether it be gods, Sorcery, or even the small mechanisms of life taken for granted every day. She could put on a show and give them easy answers, yes, pretending to hold a certainty none ought to possess about questions beyond all of them, or she could convince them of a simple truth: that the true 'gods' were that grand concepts like unity, nobility, peace, oaths, purity, knowledge, and more. Faith in such things gave power. Indeed, it was through the human perspective that abstractions could offer tangible effects, and consequently, these concepts were more than ideas. They were real. They could be praised. And the humanization of them gave them strength, tangibility, relatability, in a sense. It made them more real.

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The Column was a symbol as much as it was a structure or an organization. It represented mystical power and authority. Some might see the lost of Novakrayu and think they needed that distant rigidity, but Emalia wagered something different. They needed empathy and care. And so it was not the Column she anchored her words in, but something more personal: love. The love that fills one's heart and nourishes one's Soul.

Rotaal was master of the gods, arbiter or will and justice, but he was also a harsh, unyielding, but caring father. In some ways, each god represented a love for humanity they all clung to. Elan was the caring mother, Raizak the martyr for humanity's intelligence and freedom; Hazek the dutiful custodian of the Souls of those passed on; Saem the bringer of fertility and life for humanity's flourishing; Flael the mysterious wholeness of the seas, enabler of a peaceful coastal life, travel, and commerce; Svakas the once-friend of Raizak's efforts and now tool of fire for civilization's basic survival; and many more. There was truth in the gods, but perhaps most grounding of all was their care, in their own ways, for humanity.

There was truth in praise of such deities, but the even greater truth was the praise of humanity's own potential to access these grand, good concepts directly. Almost as if it were faith in humanity she was preaching…

When it was done, she fretted and feared the worst. Ridden with anxiety, she delayed facing Wracen but eventually complied to Sovina's askings. Emalia figured he would feel betrayed by her radical speech straying far from orthodox teachings. And yet, he was not. The priest was curious. Indeed, as she spoke to him later that same day, she saw fear in him, a hunger halfway sated. He pressed her on her newfound beliefs, and she was honest in her explanations. It was all new, all almost spontaneous and half-formed, hardly yet certain. But he was not dissuaded. If anything, it only seemed to sway him, oddly.

Later in the week, when they were giving out more food once again, triple the people came, and they didn't have enough bread. But there was no rancor and unrest. They waited patiently, expectantly.

And then she realized what was happening.

A week later, Emalia was speaking almost daily to more people than the street outside the temple allowed. Wracen cleared out the floor in the temple, and they used that instead. She stood upon a platform and expanded on this burgeoning system of belief. The philosophy of it was somewhat simple, but the ramifications were large, and the guidance she hesitated to offer was significant. She was no poet nor wizened thinker, but she was a scholar. She read from the few tomes and scrolls the priests kept in her off-time. She also oversaw expanding the scriptorium and developing routines to make decent scribes of the priests. Soon, novices began to trickle in. She helped with them, too. Sovina oversaw the training of guardians, not just to protect priests and priestesses but to help the city recover its sense of self, protecting temple grounds, patrolling like street watchers, and helping those who needed it.

It was odd and far from the diplomatic function she expected to fulfill for New Petha. In fact, she hardly spoke with the han or anyone from the isle. But that was just fine with her.

She was consumed by this, fulfilled by this. For the first time since before Drazivaska, she felt certain of herself and her future, at least for now. Her purpose here was to guide these people. To give them the certainty they lost with the fall of their city and the eventual destruction of Vasia. And she was succeeding. By all odds, she was making a difference.

…

I toured the barracks and expected credulity. I was not a soldier, born of them, raised of them, inducted into the military through service as they were—but the warriors of the isle regarded me with almost as much deference and respect as the Sorcerers did. Only slightly marred by my ultimate failure, I was regarded as a historic commander, studied and discussed among the semi-professional strateii. It was curious, certainly, to be lofted so highly. Still, I wielded it as I could.

New Petha had local fighters called milites for the island's defense. Otherwise, the class of previously-mentioned semi-professionals called strateii were adept sailors, raiders, and small-group tacticians, augmented by professional and landed Sorcerers alike, typically one per thirty soldiers. Decent for the raiding and defense of the isle, but not for war. We lacked dedicated engineers, logisticians, heavy arms, and developed strategy. I supposed that was where I came in.

I had to turn a military designed for defense into one that could launch a functional campaign. It was no small feat, even with the powers handed to me.

And that, of course, was another issue. As I reviewed and became familiar with the military I was now in charge of, Demetria dove into the world of politics as the diplomat she was. Internal discussions, communications with the Black Han, and even writing to the Merkenian mainlanders. They were resistant to any talk of deals and treaties, but when she mentioned the possibility of ending the raids and establishing tradelines, it turned a few of the local leaders' tunes. She experienced some resistance from the archons and even magistrosi, but I had a powerful mandate for change, and she operated under this, above significant reproach. But her main duty was to investigate and anticipate any internal political threats—if anything stymied our advance west, it would be that.

The first, most obvious discovery was that Desirdus and Ignatia had worked to alert their Magistros of Sorcery, Eudoxia, to my arrival. She and the other magistrosi had been dissatisfied with Bardas's elected rule and worried he would not step down if voted out. Obviously, they had been right, but a perfect time was needed to execute such a vote. One that gave justification beyond concerns over his duties and person, something such as my return.

There were two main views on the mythos Maecia had constructed around me: a traditionalist view which held that my return was foretold and would be accompanied by the end of an age, and a dissenting, modern view that looked upon Maecia's tales as hyperbolic metaphor. Eudoxia was a traditionalist, while Bardas was a modernist, and she'd anticipated his resistance to handing over power accordingly. However, most traditionalists saw a need for a separation of power in my return—I was to be a figurehead, not a decision-maker breaking their rules of governance. Desirdus was one such traditionalist, while Ignatia was not. There proved to be some friction in settling in, accordingly.

Fortunately, the military was not one such domain in which I struggled. Power was an oath the New Pethans knew well, so it was not ignored. But I had promised them more: Supremacy. And so I changed that which had remained the same for over a hundred years. My position as Magistros of Power became that of Supremacy in a ritual and celebration that overtook the entire city for two days. I let them have their traditions. And besides, it gave me some time to relax. I bonded with my mercenaries, offering them posts as my personal guards, which all accepted gratefully. I also made it a point to meet with the magistrosi and get to know each of them. Most would remain behind as I campaigned west, except for Eudoxia, useful as a Sorcerer herself. So it was she I spoke the most with.

I learned of New Petha's developments in technology and thought. As Magistros of Hubris, Eudoxia oversaw education as well and gave Demetria and me a tour of one of the few universities on the isle. They taught law, feeding the nation with talented professionals to uphold what I found to be an innovative, fair, centralized justice system where fines weren't devoured by local landholders, but revenues flowed toward the central government. Accordingly, large projects such as aqueducts, roads, entertainment complexes, canals, irrigation projects, and more could be funded and completed. If anything, the only weakness was an undeveloped private industry, particularly in the commercial sector, which is why opening trade with Merkenia was so important. Still, all of this gave me an idea. After the festivities were done, through Eudoxia, I was able to contact and employ dozens of trained mathematicians, builders, and craftsmen to be the core of my engineering arm. Bridges, clearing roads, building fortified camps, preparing sieges—all these required professionals. I also sent Demetria back to Novakrayu to employ any horsemen of the Targul the Black Han could spare. Her negotiations were simple and easy, for there were men for hire not under his exact jurisdiction, and thus, my army's weaknesses were bolstered yet again. She then formalized an alliance between New Petha and the Targul, as I said we would.

Demetria also found something odd in the city. Emalia had been busy. She was attracting masses to speeches on matters of religion, curiously. I didn't figure her as much of a speaker, but it was good to hear she was finding a purpose, and one not opposite to my own goals.

In addition to the expansion of the army, I also reorganized it for larger-scale warfare. That meant a stricter, more complex hierarchy, which required drilling and training to accustom the strateii to these new ways. My officers were archons—landed elites, of sorts—and distinguished or long-serving strateii. Though I couldn't abandon their noble-oriented hierarchy in favor of a meritocracy, I placed the archons at higher echelons with strateii serving as sergeants of sorts. An imperfect but workable solution for now.

All of this would take many more weeks to fully implement, and then there was the supply of my numbers, scouting, planning, and logistical execution. Nothing would happen fast.

This gave me some time to focus on the other half of my strategy: Sorcery.

Working closely with Eudoxia and her best Sorcerers, I deconstructed the Artifact statue we'd found in Novakrayu. At the center was the well-preserved corpse of Milta, sealed in as he was. The use of Sorcerers as parts of Artifacts was not usual, but their entire person never was. Indeed, it was seen as highly disrespectful and dangerously bordering on sinister, for the possibility of damaging their High Soul was significant. I suspected there was more superstition than truth to such concerns, yet the cultural practice had embedded itself deep inside me, and I looked on at the statue in disgust. And so, as promised to my Demetria, we worked on dismantling it. For this, Eudoxia wished to show me something.

"Your return has been foretold for over a century, and the Magistrosi of Hubris have worked over the decades to prepare adequately," she said to me as we entered an underground stone labyrinth she said was made for Sorcery and safekeeping. "With your return, a fulfilling of oaths."

"Ah, yes, my Strife and Hubris, as it were."

"Two of the four." She glanced at me, red-tinted brown eyes ever curious, hovering on me as if uncertain I was really there. I imagined it was difficult to praise a figure deep in your cultural mythos and then meet him in the flesh. "But Hubris is not a folly. Far from it."

"Oh?"

"Mankind is destined to reach higher, further. He is destined to overreach. And in this hubris of grandeur, the potential for achievement beyond all could imagine. Our hubris is our desire for more, but the consequences of this reaching are advancements for all." She opened a door and revealed a chamber lit by slits of sunlight in the ceiling filtering through rooms above. In the murky darkness, over a dozen heavy-duty shelves bearing locked chests. Eudoxia produced a key. "We prepared to make way for the foretold achievement."

"What is this place?" I asked, sensing the latent power, the glorious potency.

"Artifacts and Sorcerous Repositories, Returned One."

Each chest held at least one Artifact. Sometimes, a score of small ones. It was like an armory, how they were stocked and locked away. It took my breath away. Even in Pethya, we lacked such a sufficiently developed archive of weaponry such as this. In another century, perhaps. But we were not gifted such luxuries of time. Eudoxia strode over to a chest, opened it with a key, and retrieved a clay jug like that which might hold a large quantity of wine.

"Ashes of our first Sorcerers here," she said, bowing and holding it high like a gift offered to a king. "This will take the power from the tainted Artifact for future use. Let it be the first of many gifts. The first of many steps toward your new Oath of Supremacy, Returned One."

I stared at the jug, at the collection, at Eudoxia, and smiled.