53

ARAK’JUR

Ka’Ana’Tyat

Sinari Land

I see no opening,” Corenna said, the pain of it touching her voice. Hope had kindled when they reunited outside the Sinari village, sharing a purpose as they made for the Birthplace of Visions. A juna’ren lying in wait had been the first sign; since the madness of the spirits began, there was always a great beast warding the sacred places. Expecting it made its ambush far less deadly, and Corenna had dispatched the creature with a spear of ice through its throat.

And now, the entrance.

Arak’Jur saw it, plain as he saw her face. Twisted branches came together to form a passage into darkness.

“I’m sorry, Corenna,” he said.

“Why?” she said. “Am I so unworthy?”

She turned to address the trees. “Have the Ranasi so offended you, great spirits, that we must be purged root and stem, only for you to spit in our eyes when we plead for help?”

He understood. For a guardian it would be as if the spirits denied their gift at the moment of the kill. An unthinkable loss; such ritual was at the heart of who and what he was. Corenna lived that horror now, barred entry to the sacred places and starved of the connections to the land that fueled the essence of her magic. Especially for one such as she, who had striven more than any woman in his memory to prepare herself for war, the spirits’ prohibition would wound her to the core.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said, pacing around where she stood in the narrow clearing. “Ilek’Inari could not complete his final rites when we—”

“Could you see the way inside then?” she demanded. “When you first brought us here?”

He grew quiet. The memory was clear. He had seen the entrance then, just as he saw it now.

“You could,” she said, with a nod to punctuate the accusation. “Why? Why did the spirits choose you?”

“I don’t understand any better than you.”

She turned away.

“I’m sorry, Arak’Jur,” she said. “It’s wrong to turn my anger on you. Forgive me.”

She drew a slow breath as he watched her, and yearned for some way to make her whole.

“Go then,” she said. “Enter and find what we seek.”

He turned toward the entrance, where looming shadows pooled into darkness. Then he stopped and turned back toward her.

“Try to enter,” he said. “Walk the path. You say you cannot see the way. I can. It is there. This is a thing of the spirits’ corruption, no more.”

“Arak’Jur, even if the spirits are maddened by corruption, it would invite a curse if I—”

“We are past such concerns,” he said.

She held his eyes, then nodded.

She approached, striding forward toward the twisting knots of branches. A confident step carried her almost to the cusp, but when she came to the edge of the opening her fists struck upon what looked to him like the shadows themselves.

She turned back, a look of despair on her face.

“With me, then,” he said, extending a hand.

She took it, and together they stepped forward.

He heard her breath catch before the world faded away to blackness, dissolving his consciousness into the presence of the spirits.

The spirits, and Corenna at his side.

ARAK’JUR.

He felt the words thunder through him even as another voice sounded: CORENNA.

BE WELCOME IN KA’ANA’TYAT, SON OF THE SINARI, DAUGHTER OF THE RANASI. BE WELCOME IN THE BIRTHPLACE OF VISIONS.

The way was barred, he thought.

YES.

A great silence lingered, though he felt the warmth of Corenna’s presence beside him. If she spoke, he could not hear it, though he felt her there, huddled close as if they sheltered together by a fire.

Why? he asked at last.

WHAT THE POWER OF THE GODDESS DEMANDS, WE MUST GIVE.

Can you be made free of this burden?

Another long silence.

YOU ARE CHOSEN.

Again the spirits declared him “chosen,” as if he was meant to understand. Ilek’Inari had not known its meaning. Not even the oldest stories in their people’s memory spoke of such a thing, though perhaps Ka’Vos had taken the secret with him into death. He knew only that the spirits asked after it, finding the supplicants of each tribe wanting. And now had the spirits confirmed it was his mantle to bear.

What does it mean to be chosen?

IT IS THE OLD WAY. WE DID NOT REMEMBER, BEFORE. WE WERE WRONG TO TURN ASIDE THE GUARDIANS. NOW WE UNDERSTAND. YOU MUST SEEK OUT OUR POWER. ASCEND, AS CHAMPION OF THE WILD. MARK YOUR PLACE AT THE SEAT OF THE GODS.

A vulgar thought. Guardians did not seek out the gifts of the spirits, only followed the shamans’ visions to ward against the great beasts that threatened the tribe.

NO.

He had given no voice to the thought, but the spirits responded all the same.

NO. GATHER OUR GIFTS. THE TIME APPROACHES. THE GOD STIRS. THE GODDESS HAS NEED OF HER CHAMPIONS.

The words washed over him with the force of thunder. If there was corruption here—and he had not ruled it out—he could not feel it.

Great spirits, he thought. I will try.

IT WILL SERVE. WOULD YOU HAVE OUR BOON?

Yes, he thought, bracing himself to receive their gift.

Nothing came, only silence.

Spirits? he asked.

OURS IS THE BOON OF VISIONS. ONE FOR THINGS PASSED, AND ONE FOR THINGS-TO-COME.

A sensation pervaded his thoughts, of himself asking the spirits for answers.

You wish me to ask for visions?

YES. ONE REQUEST FOR THE PAST. ONE FOR THINGS-TO-COME.

Doubt flooded his mind.

Had Corenna known this would be the boon of Ka’Ana’Tyat? Had she come prepared? For his part, his mind ran dry even as he weighed a dozen and more possibilities.

In the distance he felt a muted sensation, as if Corenna spoke to him through water, then he heard the same dull rumbling as the spirit spoke in return. Strain as he might, he could make out none of the words.

CORENNA OF THE RANASI’S ANSWERS BELONG TO HER ALONE. ASK, IF YOU WOULD HAVE YOURS.

Two questions? he asked.

YES. ASK.

The past. He could have the truth of Ka’Vos’s death, surety of Corenna’s devotion, or the steps that had led to Llanara’s betrayal. What paths he might have walked instead, had he never taken up the mantle of the guardian. He could ask after the corruption of the spirits themselves, delving into the mysteries of their madness.

But in the end, all of these were stones cast into the river of time. He would continue on his present course—to protect his people from the ravages of war—no matter the spirits’ revelations pertaining to Llanara, Ka’Vos, or even their own corruption.

Instead he sought a balm of knowledge, to salve a wound that would not heal alone.

Spirits, he began, I would know whether I could have saved my wife, Rhealla, and my son, Kar’Elek. Whether I could have taken some action, some other course. Whether I might have returned to the village sooner, or spoken to the shaman in time to receive warning. Whether—

YOU BEAR NO FAULT FOR THEIR DEATHS, ARAK’JUR.

The voice interrupted his thought, a peal of thunder crashing through him, mixing agony and relief.

BE FREE OF THIS BURDEN.

He felt it drain away. Grief bled through him, replaced with the sure knowledge of the spirits’ words. In an instant he saw the vivid truth of that terrible day, when he had returned to the village and found the valak’ar slaughtering the bravest among his people, those who had stood against it, buying time for the rest to flee. He saw his wife among the first to rush forward, leading the beast away from the tents. He saw her stand firm as it coiled toward her, heard her cry out as her last thoughts echoed in his mind: thoughts of loss and sadness, but also pride. Thoughts of him and of their son. Of love. A deep and abiding love that the wraith-snake’s venom could not wash away.

He watched in agony as his son picked up a spear fallen from the hand of a master hunter. He watched as his beautiful boy strode forward, confident he did only as his father would have done in his place. Once more he heard the final thoughts: Did I do it right, father? Was I a worthy son?

He saw himself. Rushing into the village, armed with no more than a hunting spear, daring to expose his flesh to the valak’ar’s deadly bite. He watched as it killed Arak’Mul, and he struck it down, rending the creature into bloody ruin, its corpse steaming like the ashes of a dying flame.

There was nothing more. He had done what could be done. Tides of grief and pain threatened to drown him, but through the spirits’ eyes he could see the truth. He would mourn their loss, but he need not carry the burden of guilt any longer.

Pain seared through him as the visions faded.

REMEMBER THEM.

Thank you, great spirits, he thought.

ONE MORE. FOR THINGS-TO-COME. ASK.

This one was simpler.

Llanara, he thought.

The visions came at once.