The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

News of my return had preceded me. I felt like a conquerer returning in triumph, celebrated by all, loved by all. And yet, I knew none of these people and had done little for them besides dooming them centuries ago. It almost felt like a ruse, if not for the sheer joy and wonder I found in their eyes. They really did see me as something beyond a man.

After refitting at Dyrran Hold—a stone citadel overlooking the mainland crossing that held a protected bay of ships, indeed, a second fleet comparable to the one I'd helmed—we sailed north to the mouth of a river Desirdus called the Lyus. After skirting the southern half of the island, I was slowly becoming familiar with its nature: rainy and lush, with thick temperate coniferous forests, coastal bluffs, and glimpses of lowland fields upon drained swampland and sweeping floodplains. It struck a curious image of a land tamed yet still wild at its core. Hardly like the wild Merkenia we'd left, most of which was barely touched by humanity.

The capital city of Aurelasar was as modern as Nova was old. Centrally planned, with ordered streets, measured and consistent, dividing blocks that made up sensible districts, keeping noisy craftsmen from all else, for instance. Most prominent, visible upon even distant arrival, was the lighthouse. It looked to be of marble, two-thirds the height of Nova's Column, with a bronze globe at the top glowing like a bright oil flame at night. Trade flowed like blood, but from and to where I couldn't tell. I asked Ignatia, who remained by our side as Desirdus had departed to coordinate our arrival.

The Sorcerer, robed in silk with gold and silver, watched the city come closer into view with an expression of longing finally sated and said in Pethyan, "Through the island. Ersani and the surrounding highlands produce wool, we spin it, trade it back as cloth. Every settlement is quite specialized, besides agriculture, of course."

I watched the barges pass with a sort of wonderous admiration. A small island with such bustling commerce, constrained to only itself? It seemed curiously implausible, but then, so were many of the improbabilities I'd experienced of late. Such as the Artifact stowed away on our ship, containing my love's old guard from ages past—a weapon of mass destruction.

Demetria gripped my hand briefly for reassurance as we docked, preparing for departure, sensing my hesitation. The dock led to a thoroughfare cutting straight to the city's heart, and it was empty, save for lines of guards on the flanks and people crowded behind them. Countless people. As far as I could see, they were there, waiting, watching. Bustling on the river and other roads aside, it seemed everyone was here. A population larger than I expected, likely matching or even surpassing Novakrau—the largest in Merkenia, certainly. I noted tall aqueducts, clearly maintained, arcing through the skyline from the northeast, an arena as tall as the largest bastion, thick exterior walls with towers and barbicans, and, of course, that mountainous lighthouse. And unlike every other major city I'd seen in this age, there was no palace fortification or central keep.

"It's odd," I mused to Demetria as we lined up at the head of the column of my mercenaries, along with the Sorcerers and then sailors of the fleet, "they've no keep. All the typical investitures of power, such as temples and palaces, but few internal defensive structures."

"If they were led here by your sister, as they say, around a century ago, then maybe they had no reason to fear internal strife. Pethya didn't."

"A long-living leader would add that stability, I suppose. Even so, it's curious."

She gave a soft smile, brow raised my way. "You face a city prepared to welcome your return, and you comment on their architecture?"

"Our return."

"I'm mentioned in their mythos. You're the deity of it, Daecinus. All the better for me; it allows me to move more discreetly. You know I've never been one for pomp and circumstance."

"Oh yes, for I certainly am." I sighed. Deification or not, it would still be a matter of politics—this I knew in my gut. I would have to breathe fire and fly to command enough obedience to force the entrenched powerful from their positions of authority. Demetria would help with that, of course, but still, this… attention could be a weapon to stymie me as much as a tool at my disposal. It all depended on how I used it.

We proceeded along at the head of our procession like returning warlords. It was a déjà vu that Demetria could not appreciate, but one I was almost mired in if not for the sheer joy and awe of the populace. They stared and cheered and smiled with such excitement, I had to wonder if it was I they were really seeing before them and not some arcane illusion. We paraded through the merriment, and I took the time to observe the city and its inhabitants. Many were almost indistinguishably mundane in their humanity, though some certainly had a greyer complexion with eyes bearing pigments similar to mine. There was no clear caste system, but there was more diversity than I had expected, with some people from north of Merkenia. Again, I asked Ignatia, who was our unofficial point of contact of sorts.

"They are children of slaves. None who are born in captivity are kept. They are freed and deemed citizens, should they choose to stay," she said with a hint of pride in her voice.

It was certainly progressive by current and past standards, as far as I could tell. What would Emalia think? I wondered. She'd her opinions on the topic, certainly. I thought of her and Sovina, then of Protis, all so far away. Like our first parting in Drazivaska, I felt the tinge of melancholy, but it was not abandonment but purpose that put us on separate paths. Still, I worried for them, alone in Novakrayu. They would do well. They were capable. And who knows, in time, New Petha may prove to be more dangerous.

"Desirdus has arranged for the magistrosi to await us at the end of the procession. All archons and logistrates will be awaiting us, along with the Episcos." Archons were landholders like boyars, and logistrates were appointed, with the holdings being non-hereditary, as I understood it. A more bureaucratic, reformed system, certainly, enabling greater centralized authority compared to the decentralized Vasia with its nominal Tsar. It was obvious why Maecia wanted such a system, for it gave her more power to do as she wished while still maintaining a balance between the oligarchal magistrosi and a powerful High Magistros.

"Is the episcos not Maecia?" Demetria asked.

"No, Great Martyr. She has been gone for many years, and it was only recently that a new episcos was chosen from among the Order of the True Oaths."

"I wish not to offend, but might I ask about the nature of my title? Known for my death proves an unpleasant reminder, as you may understand."

Where Desirdus might balk at such a suggestion, Ignatia nodded in understanding. "Some use the title: the Great Lady."

"Do you hear that, Love?" Demetria asked me, a playful grin on her lips. "I think you should adopt the practice. Perhaps 'my great lady' would be more fitting."

I hummed noncommittally with a wry smile of my own.

"Ignatia," she continued, serious once again, "you said the episcos was chosen recently? How recently?"

"Two years ago."

"So they waited a long time for Maecia's return."

"Fifteen years. The newer generations desired a change her absence could not afford."

Demetria cocked her head like a curious student. "Were you a voting member of that?"

"Sorcerers are strictly disallowed from the Order of the True Oaths. We are seen in contrast with the Honorary Episcos's instructions. There is no such thing as Sorcerer priests here." Ignatia seemed uncomfortable with the subject. It was not hard to see why. Maecia had not abandoned her fantastical interpretation of Sorcery as harmful to Souls and, indeed, seemed to initially try to forge this New Petha in an entirely Sorceryless society. Still, her influence seemed unsuccessful in this regard. Her absence hardly helped, as in recent years, Sorcery had only grown in importance and use among the defense and institutions of the island.

We suspected Ignatia's answers, given our knowledge of the systems of New Petha from the hours of briefings on the voyage here, but confirmation was never a bad thing. Particularly for Demetria, who always gleaned more than one's words from such discussions. This True Oaths Order, for instance, was something like the Column—but more secularized; it was concerned with education, history, cultural influence, and teaching all manner of things related to my so-called Oaths. I still didn't know how to navigate that. As far as I knew, I bore no oaths nor abided by any beyond the norm. It was strange to hear of a belief so widespread and fervent yet directly counter to my own experiences while its subject matter was me.

We ventured into light conversation further, Demetria building rapport with Ignatia, who was always helpful and pragmatic in her answers, as I continued to study the city. Its ample military resources on display, guarding our ascent into the heart of Aurelasar. Mail and iron weaponry. Nothing too varied from their western opposition. The people wore garments of linen and wool, chitons—like a long, draping tunic—and over-the-shoulder, heavy cloaks secured with broaches and clasps, sometimes semi-circular, sometimes rectangular. Still, despite more traditional attire, it was not unusual to see leg wraps, tunics, and breeches of the west. For such an isolated land, the mixture of cultural influences surprised me. I wondered if it was all truly from their accidental infusion from war slaves or if they had agents abroad, importing useful practices. That would be truly remarkable.

We entered a large plaza dominated by a central marble statue of grand proportions, standing over two stories in height. It depicted a man—presumably me—upon a background, like a detailed and protruding relief carving. He was wearing a robe not unlike Ignatia's own—or mine, back in the day, for that matter—grasping some twisting, distorted shape pulled down from the heavens with one hand. I presumed it to be Sorcery. Likely Soulfire. The other hand faced the earth, where hands of the Dead broke free. Underneath the dramatic creation was a brief phrase: The hubris of power is strife, and from it, a learned reserve.

"I'm a parable," I muttered under my breath.

"At least you are a striking one." Demetria smiled at the carving. "Look at how they captured your face."

I stared up at it. Though constrained by the difficulties of artistic capacities and the crudeness of stone carving, I had to admit there was a certain uncanniness there. Of course, Maecia likely had advised upon it herself. My face was long and narrow, with high-set, sharp features, proud and almost defiant. I glanced back to see my men looking from me to the statue, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

Wendof was in front, and so it was he who addressed me, scratching at his close-cut beard. "A fine job of it, I say, sir. Ah, it's sir still… is it?"

"I hardly know myself," I replied, grinning.

That seemed to draw some of the intimidated tension away for Wendof cracked a toothy smile. "Right you are, Grand Returned One, lord of Sorcery and this and that."

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Bowyer muttered, "Think those people ahead are expecting something by the looks of it."

I looked forward. Past the statue, past an open corridor of ground within a thick crowd, watching on in a now-murmering anticipation, was a long, tall building with a façade of pristine white marble, carved richly. It held a balcony above, nearly half its length, with many watching guests, but below was an opening under columns that led into a shadowed interior. Standing at that interior, upon distant stone steps, organized in some sort of precise arrangement, were a vast array of finely-dressed people I presumed to be the archons and logistrates. At the center, however, standing at a step higher, were the magistrosi, recognizable by the narrow diadems we used to bear back in Pethya. I became aware of the diadem upon my own brow, made of ivory and copper, an Artifact of notable potency. And now symbolism.

There were four magistrosi, split into the four oaths of Strife, Power, Reserve, and Hubris, each aligning with their respective judicial, military, civil administration, and Sorcery and advancement. At the exact center, raised up slightly, was one of the magistrosi, who I presumed to be the High Magistros, chosen among the four to hold greater power. To the side, the recently-chosen priestly episcos of somewhat similar authority to a magistros, I thought. Maybe a High Magistros. It was hard to say. They were all watching me.

No one had briefed me on what was to come. I glanced quickly at Ignatia, who frowned at the sight.

"It is as they thought," she whispered, then stared at me. "Nothing will come so easily. Prepare yourself for resistance. The Sorcerers support you, Returned One."

I was about to ask what she meant when Demetria brushed her arm against mine—an invitation. I looped mine through hers and went forward, not glancing back, following her subtle initiative to proceed confidently. I wished to flash a signal to my men behind with my other arm, then recalled the unfortunate reality as my stump seared with pain. I had no hand to signal back to them, of course. But they did not follow, likely realizing their place.

Demetria pushed an assertive presence through the bond, a strength of will and certainty. I knew by now the wisdom in simply following her guidance in a position such as this. She was the political, diplomatic arm to our purpose, after all. Without her, I'd be lost to my impulsive intuitions, but with her, I was bolstered, strengthened.

And yet, what could Ignatia mean? The Sorcerers are with you? Was she implying a violent sort of conflict? Something more than disagreement and debate?

We strode forward in even step and calm poise. My mind was racing, searching for next steps. They were expecting something. What? A show of intent?

Under my breath, barely moving my lips, I whispered, "What do they want? A speech?"

"It is a challenge."

I understood immediately. They threaten me with the opportunity to flounder before the most important people of these lands. These magistrosi are not my allies but snakes. They see me for what I am: a threat to their way of life. Simplistic? Perhaps. They were baiting out something. Maybe giving me a moment to overstep and show my hand. Ah, that was it.

"I will begin," she said. "Follow my lead."

I pushed through understanding.

Footfalls over the paved stone street. Whispers and murmurs from all around, except ahead, where quiet anticipation reigned among the dozens of most powerful of all who could gather today. I imagined more in the north, unable to meet the call. What would they hear of this Daecinus Aspartes, returned from the dead as prophecy hinted? Had he come to fulfill his oath of hubris? Or had he learned? Had he grown?

Or would death come for all who followed him once again?

I stopped when Demetria stopped, far enough away to see the whites of their eyes. Their irises were an impure, muddled brown in the best of cases. Let them witness the true Pethyan line, untarnished with time and compromise, feel the power therein. The interior was expansive yet more intimately private compared to the streets, as we were moderately shielded from view and, thus, from observation of the proceedings.

Demetria was silent for a long breath, and though I wished to break it in uncertainty, I remained quiet, waiting. Finally, in a loud, authoritative, yet kind voice, she called out, "We thank you for your welcome, stewards of New Petha. But this distance is a cold thing. Come down from your steps. Greet us in true. We would like to look upon the faces of Pethya's descendants."

"Great Martyr, we do not rule in your stead," the episcos said, her voice guarded and attempting assertiveness. She was frightened. They all were. I saw that now. "As much as it pains me to say, in what could be construed as defiance, I must ask you to heed our traditions and submit to the Isle's authority."

They saw figures of myth and legend in the flesh before them, expecting them to demand the world. Expecting them to take everything. And Demetria was drawing them out, exposing this fear, giving me an opening if I wished to seize it soon. But not yet.

"It was said that I died for your deliverance into a golden era," she replied. "That my suffering was necessary for the next age to pass, and even the dark one which followed."

The episcos bowed her head. "It is true, Great Martyr."

"But it is not in your mythos that I was to arise again." Once more, the episcos acknowledged her point, and so Demetria continued, "Thus begins a new era, one delivering you from your patient isolation. From war came peace, and now, that peace is over. Once more, it falls upon me to deliver you from that sanctity."

Uncertain murmurs among the archons and logistrates, and even the magistrosi. The episcos took control once more. "What do you mean?"

Now was my time. Demetria knew it as well, and so she relaxed her arm, unbinding me. I stepped forward, drawing all's attention. "Vasia is coming for us once again."

A collective gasp. The kind only possible when a fear so ingrained in the collective unconscious rears its monstrous head from the depths of darkness, not yet dead.

But as I brought them this doom, I could also deliver salvation. And so I continued, "Heading them is a Sorcerer risen from the Column, born of its Souls from plans set long ago, bearing the minds of priests who warred against me. Who entombed me. Who killed your ancestors' brethren and banished your line to Merkenia." I looked back and locked eyes with Demetria. "But this time, we are prepared." I faced the episcos, who was looking rattled and uncertain. All were. "You hesitate. You see me and think of our final days. But they were mine more than yours. I spent eons interred. Now that I have returned, I wish to see this land protected against our enemies. I come with experience and power beyond any here, already with an alliance forged with neighbors long neglected out of trepidation. Yet you may still regard me with suspicion. Keep your distance and clutch to your titles, but do so with the knowledge that the only one who forced Vasia to kneel in submission not once but twice stands before you, awaiting an answer that must come soon."

The episcos was stunned, or perhaps pausing to craft a functional response, but the man near her—the High Magistros, who was not wearing a silk robe, so could not be the Magistros of Sorcery and education, for Sorcerers wore fine robes—stepped down from his elevated position. "If what you are saying is true, then there are ways of doing this, Returned One. We were not arbitrarily given power, subordinate to your return. New Petha was constructed with a prioritization of stability and survival. All those here know it."

Not your Sorcerers. Not your soldiers, I thought, recalling long conversations on the voyage here. Many assumed I would lead once arriving in the capital.

"We respect your power and guidance," he said, "but to subordinate ourselves, abandoning the role of governance given to us, would be to defy the Founder herself."

Before I could respond, Demetria interrupted with her own argument and put forth more kindly than I might have managed. "My sister-in-law has been gone for decades, has she not? During this crisis, even she has not returned. But Daecinus has. The one who was destined to. Who would bring upon light and death and all that feared and hoped for."

The episcos recovered, responding, "Her absence is expected. But the Honorary Episcos established New Petha to be independent over a century ago and not reliant upon her governance."

"Yet you are your own people, are you not? You have the tools and knowledge to see for yourself that this is a challenge you must face wholly?" She turned slowly, looking over not just the officials but back into the square with the distantly gathered people. "Who here has faced the Vasians in war?" Her voice could not carry so far, but it was not meant for the citizens. No one inside moved. "In mere combat?" Again, none responded. "How about in politics and negotiation? I myself have died at their hands. I've negotiated with their ilk before and reached compromises." She raised her voice, projecting certainty and strength. "How about this, then? Who here has led war against any foe?"

The High Magistros answered her, confirming himself as Magistros of Power of the New Pethan military, "I have directed battle against our neighbors. Your questioning is heard, and intent clear, but we are not unprepared."

Demetria cocked her head. "Battle? Of what scale? Have you plotted invasion and led armies?"

"Multi-ship raids," he said. "Not comparable to the kind of war the Returned One alludes to."

"And yet you feel confident to handle Vasia itself?"

His face was tight, strained. I saw the logic working in his mind, conflicting with emotions warring within. To admit much thus far was impressive for a person of power, where humility often conflicts with pride. "I believe in New Petha," he said at last. "And with the Returned One's aid, we would prevail."

"An advisor? Truly?" the robed Magistros of Sorcery asked in disbelief. "I suspected you might try this, but to actually see the arrogance actualized?"

He turned to his fellow magistros. "Solidarity, Eudoxia."

"Over the Returned One with news such as this? Do you forget his Oaths? He brings the Power you stand for."

"And your Hubris."

"That is the nature of our predicament." This Eudoxia faced me, reddish eyes holding my own. "I was raised in the way of the True Oaths. I see the unavoidable end and commit to the Third War. Vasia cannot be ignored. Our future cannot be ignored. You have my loyalty, Oathkeeper, Daecinus Aspartes, son of Pethya, Kinfather of New Petha."

I looked over the others, waiting patiently, my frustration cooled by so honest an admission.

"We are not required to any action by law," another said, presumably Magistros of Strife—law.

Eudoxia replied, "But compelled by conscience."

"If the Returned One seeks compliance in war, I will obey," said the last Magistros, who then had to be that of Reserve—of civil administration.

The High Magistros of Power seemed frustrated by this. "Does a united front mean nothing? If this threat is real—"

"Why your incredulity?" Eudoxia asked.

"If the threat is real, then we must form the backbone and strength of proper governance!"

"Watch as he clings to his army and station," the Magistros of Reserve mocked. "Yet abandons sound strategy."

"Sound!" he sputtered. "We know nothing of the threat at hand. And little of Daecinus's ability. We all know Sorcery differs from the ages past."

"Watch how you address the Returned One!" Eudoxia snapped. "He is Sorcery incarnate."

"And Sorcery is a disreputable practice according to the same doctrine under the Founder! Yet you prioritize it over all."

"Do not force conflict—"

"Do not support an outside element."

She stepped closer to him, Souls simmering around her, visible even at my distance. She was powerful indeed. "Your claims are heretical."

"Hubris acting in characteristic fashion? I wish to be reasonable, compliant, but cannot bend under these circumstances. As High Magistros, I order a recess. The Returned One will stay in the palace to await our full consensus—"

The Magistros of Strike shook his head. "You have gone too far, Bardas. We have a majority to deny your determination. Majority to raise the Returned One to higher station."

"What is this? A coup?" He stared around. "Guards!"

"Do not resist the even hand of Strife, Bardas."

"Guards!"

I didn't do a thing except watch on as the Magistros of Power crumpled before all like a puppet with its strings cut. He died instantly. The magistrosi hardly seemed surprised. There were soldiers paused in uncertainty. A handful near the magistros's dead person rushed forward but keeled over, wheezing their final breaths from shrinking, necrotic lungs. My mercenaries rushed forward and drew up in a circle around Demetria and I. Ignatia was there too, along with a handful of Sorcerers from the ships. I saw more throughout the crowds behind us, prepared like guard dogs to be loosed at first command.

"It's done," Eudoxia shouted, hands up in a gesture of peace, slightly out of breath. "We three are in agreement, Returned One. There will be no illegal reprisals here. He fought against order of law and saw punishment for it, as is proper."

I scanned their faces. It was plotted. It all was. They must have resented the High Magistros, but did this mean they would obey me, or was I simply a good excuse? I nodded to the episcos, who was frozen in fright, eyes flicking from her counterparts to me. "And what of her?" I asked.

"The episcos will obey," the Magistros of Strife said. "She holds little power to defy our consensus in wartime."

"Is that what this is?" the woman in question asked. "Wartime?"

I walked forward, eventually stepping over the dead High Magistros, and took my place above the others. I extended an arm toward Demetria, who approached and stood beside me. "You will agree to the position of High Magistros, then?" I asked quietly.

"Of course, Returned One," Eudoxia answered. "This day was foretold. As was the resistance that would need to be shirked to make it happen, so long as you fulfill your oaths to New Petha."

The others hesitated to varying degrees, but all nodded in agreement.

None of this was as I expected, and indeed, it filled me with suspicion and some trepidation at what other plots might unfold, but I had allies to support me in this and the power to execute my mandate as I saw fit, at least for now. I faced the confused populace watching on, stunned archons standing nearby, all silent as the Dead, and raised my voice to reach all. "Our enemies of old have returned. They face us with intent for annihilation and genocide attempted long ago, but they will not succeed. I swear to you, to my own ancestors, that we will see victory. Mark this promise as the beginning of a new age, the beginning of a new oath: that of Supremacy!"