Chapter 33

Chapter

Thirty-Three

TRESSYA

Stinking filth, blood, guts and twitching bodies covered the ground, none of them human. How many creatures, I couldn't tell, but they littered our small campfire space like dark wells of tar.

"We need to move," Bryra said, her voice calm as ever, betraying no hint of the havoc she had just wreaked. "Being offspring of the Salmun, I'm sure our nemesis is somewhere close."

"If we had a little more time to—" Tortilus began.

"Get walking or we leave you behind," Osmud ordered.

I shook my head slightly when Tortilus looked to me for support, signaling I agreed with both Bryra and Osmud before stooping to retrieve my pack.

"I'll return this one to your pack," Plesy offered Tortilus, who snatched the book away from Plesy's hand as he clumsily slipped on his pack strap, then marched off after Osmud.

"Here." Selisimus offered me the last of the meat from the meal they'd prepared while Tamas and I were at the lake. "Apologies for how meager it is. You ate little when you returned to the fire, and I thought…"

"Thank you, Selisimus. Given our circumstances, this is a meal for a king."

I ripped off a piece of the cooked meat, which had now gone cold. However, within minutes of swallowing it, I surprised myself by spitting it out onto the ground, feeling as though the rest of the scant contents of my stomach would soon follow.

Selisimus and Wellard, who'd moved in beside him, jerked away. "Oh dear. Was something wrong with the meat?" Selisimus said.

"No, it was fine," I mumbled, pressing a hand to my stomach. The soul of the Ashenlands creature felt like a bellyful of unsettled food. "I have something else inside that's not sitting well with me." I resumed walking, ignoring both Bryra's frown and Osmud's smug expression. They both knew exactly what was happening, and I was sure Osmud was fighting the urge to say ‘I told you so.'

I covered my nose with my hand, finding the acrid smell of day's old sweat like rancid meat.

"Excuse me," Wellard interjected. The last thing I was in the mood for was conversation. "This…er…This might be forward, but what were you doing when you crouched beside that creature?"

"Trying to prove something to myself. "

"Did you succeed?"

I looked ahead at Osmud's back, then I dared turn my focus inward and felt the feral strain of the creature's soul, untethered and wild within. It clearly didn't like cooked meat.

‘You have invited disaster by taking on this soul,' the Mother suddenly spoke.

‘Now you want to be chatty.'

‘And you expect me to share my space with such a creature?'

‘My mind, my space. I decide what fills it.'

I turned my face to Wellard. "To answer your question. Yes, I succeeded."

‘It will drive you insane,' the Mother continued.

‘No more than you.'

‘You can't control something that has no notion of logic. There's a reason spiritweaving is restricted to creatures capable of intelligent thought.'

‘Tamas can. So too Osmud and the rest of the Razohan who joined the war in the Ashenlands.'

‘People bred and raised with the knowledge of their heritage, taught from infancy on how to master their ability.'

"Don't you dare lecture me on—" I glanced across to Wellard, releasing I spoke aloud, then to everyone else, who were now staring at me. Oops. "Ignore me."

"Say hi to the old bitch from me," Osmud said over his shoulder.

"She's berating me for squeezing the creature's soul in alongside hers. "

"You what?" Wellard said. "I'm sorry, but I'm struggling to keep up with everything that's going on."

"The severe old woman we met on the path now possesses Tressya," Tortilus said, forgetting his book for one moment. How he walked, conjure his dismal light and read the book was a feat in determination.

"Yes, yes, I understood that, but the rest is…" Wellard shrugged.

"If you were to ask me, which I know you're not, I'd say you were an idiot for what you did," Osmud remarked. Sarcasm, taunts, and advice I neither asked for nor cared to hear were the help Osmud offered me. "You can strip souls, but not the knowledge of how to care for them or use them. That takes practice under strict guidance. And something as untamed as an Ashenlands beast, I can tell you from experience they're no house pet. Savage things are hard to contain and even harder to control. Don't poke it. Let the soul simmer. It should quieten over time. And don't whatever you do dare think to assume its form. That will be your undoing. You're not strong enough to wrestle control."

‘I'm loathed to admit I agree with the beast.'

"The Mother agrees with you. But she also thinks you're little better than the creature whose soul I've taken."

Osmud laughed. "Bring it on old crone."

The Mother's presence disappeared from my mind, leaving me alone with the restless prowling of an unshackled soul desirous to tear itself free from the bounds of its ethereal cage. Perhaps I was foolish in taking its soul when I was so new to taking on my Razohan heritage.

"As a Huungardred, I have no experience in such matters. Our beasts are all we possess. There is no difference, even if our forms may say otherwise. But I've witnessed enough young Razohan learning their ability for the first time. And it can be a disorientating process. Please listen to Osmud. We don't need to lose the only other person who can guide us." Bryra hesitated a moment. "We also don't want to lose you."

While my enhanced vision didn't allow me to see everything as if it were daylight, I could at least make out her smile—a genuine offering of peace—in the darkness on the human side of her face. I was right in including Bryra on our quest; She was not only a valuable member but also, I believed, a friend, which was significant for me since I saw enemies more readily than friends. She'd chosen her own path, shifting her loyalty, something I understood all too well.

"I've some knowledge of such things, sadly not enough, but if I've understood correctly—" Wellard continued.

"I don't have a direction here," Osmud yelled from the head of our party.

Neither did I, just the agitated soul of a beast and the dull, faint throbs of a tune that somewhat resembled the beat of my heart. I could only imagine this was the Etherweave, though it offered me no real sense of direction.

Yet, everyone relied on me, just as I was relying on Tamas.

Okay, beast . Yes, Osmud had advised against provoking it. However, something as formidable as the nightmare couldn't roam the Ashenlands unnoticed by other winged creatures that inhabit the forest. Perhaps this new untamed soul would provide some clue where the nightmare had headed. And I was not as hopeless as everyone would believe in connecting with other souls.

The creature's soul seemed to be everywhere inside my thoughts, spreading like noxious creeper. As any wild animal locked in a cage, it felt as though the soul paced and prowled. It was impossible to get a sense of its thoughts or emotions, but an anxious need to take to the sky overwhelmed me. Osmud was perhaps right in saying it was best I didn't provoke the damn thing, but circumstances proved otherwise.

Given how readily it pervaded me, it didn't take me long to enter the creature's soul mind. Once again, I was thrust into a bewildering maze of twisting mental passages that lacked any apparent order or logic, driven by primal urges that nearly drove me to madness with their intensity, but through it all I caught glimpses into memories of the creature in flight and what lay before it.

"Tressya?" came Selisimus's questioning voice, and I realized I'd stopped and was pressing my palms to the side of my head as though trying to hold it together.

"What did I say?" Osmud snarled, yanking my hands from my head. I opened my eyes to meet Osmud's piercing glare. He was leaning down, his face so close that his eyes dominated my vision. His fury was unmistakable, even without Razohan sight.

"It's on the top of a mountain," I blurted out.

Osmud blinked, then straightened. "That's helpful." Spoken with sarcasm, as usual. "And you learned that from...?"

I tilted my chin, staring up at him. "It's not as hard as you make it out to be." And pressed my lips together to prevent myself from throwing up over him. Flight was disorienting, even when it was only a memory, and my feet remained firmly on the ground; perhaps that's what made it feel worse.

"Looks like I underestimated you."

"That's a common mistake."

He huffed a short laugh. "Did you get the direction of this mountain while you were poking around in its memories?"

"You wrenched me back before I could."

He gave an exaggerated bow. "Apologies, Your Majesty, I thought I was saving your life, or at the very least, your sanity."

"Did you get anything else helpful?" Bryra interrupted.

"It's a mountainous region. But the mountain we're after soars above the rest. There's a ruin at the top, perhaps a castle. I couldn't make it out. But I'm sure that's where Tamas headed." And I had a name for the Ashenlands creature. Pathfinder, for giving me the way to Tamas.

"I think I have something," Tortilus shouted, almost dropping his book. "Here, Plesy, look at this. I'm keen for a second opinion." He handed it across to Plesy, holding his conjured light over the page and jabbing his finger at the place he wanted Plesy to read.

"I wasn't sure what you were looking for, but I wasn't expecting this," Plesy said.

"You heard Tressya. This is important, perhaps the most important aspect of our current predicament."

"What have you found?" Wellard left me, moving across to join the other two, Selisimus doing likewise.

"A way to this mountain, I hope," Osmud grumbled.

"One of our predecessors has helpfully written a translation in the margins," Plesy replied. "Though it's difficult to read while on the move."

"I found it in The Opus of Verdantus," Tortilus said.

"What?" I crossed to the apostles, our current predicament forgotten because Verdantus was in the far realms, the Levenian's birth place. Avaloria, Gusselan's home, was a kingdom within Verdantus. "How is it you have something from Verdantus?"

"It's not an original. The Opus of Verdantus is a copy, meticulously transcribed. It contains some of Verdantus' lore and spell-craft. I know all this because it's written in the ancient tongue of Tarragona, not Verdantus. I found the book buried under dust. Quite a coincidence I picked it up, but I'm sure it's rarely been seen, certainly not in the last century or so, that's for sure. Translating it would be simple for me, given our extensive studies of the ancient tongue of Tarragona, if someone hadn't already scrawled the translation into the margin." Tortilus glanced at Wellard. "Though your studies are a bit lacking, aren't they?"

"What does it say?" I said.

"Telling me we need to find a mountain isn't helping," Osmud snapped. "So, focus on finding us a direct path to the Etherweave. And you lot, shut the fuck up about your bloody ancient books."

"But…I believe this is—" Tortilus continued.

"End of conversation," Osmud snapped.

"It's about the veil," Tortilus added.

Osmud fisted a palm, then looked at me. "Don't you fucking dare. Forget about it."

"I believe Tortilus is right in saying this is significant."

Osmud strode toward me. "The Salmun arriving any minute is significant. That Tamas is quite possibly about to release the Etherweave when he's not of sane mind and currently possessed by …whatever you called them. That is significant," he shouted. "I'm fighting for my brother. Who are you fighting for?"

"Everyone," I replied.

He pursed his lips, giving me a glare so sharp I was sure his claws and fangs would inflict only half as much damage. The ensuring silence hung over us like a leaden cloud while the air between us felt so brittle it would snap if anyone spoke.

Finally, he relented, ducking his head as he exhaled sharply.

"Can I speak?" Tortilus said.

"No," Osmud barked. "Yes," I said, our replies overlapping.

"It says here, the Aeternals and the Eone were never truly destroyed during the war for the Etherweave," Tortilus said, reading from the translation. "It's said their souls still linger while the Etherweave survives, but are imprisoned behind the veil that separates the living from the dead."

"The Divines," I whispered.

"Excuse me?" Plesy said.

I shook my head. "It's something Gusselan mentioned."

"It doesn't say much more, only that the veil must never falter. "

Plesy leaned over the book, shifting Tortilus's hand away. "Otherwise the Aeternals and the Eone will walk the realms once more."

"I presume these two factions are a grave threat for such a warning," Wellard said.

"If they're not truly dead, how are they possessing Tamas?" Bryra said.

"Powerful magic," was my reply. "That's whose mind I'd entered."

"Begging your pardon, Tressya," Tortilus said. "We don't understand you."

"In my dream—only I guess it wasn't—I thought perhaps I'd entered the mind of one of the Eone."

"The dead whose eyes you believed you were looking through?" Plesy added, as if needing to clarify.

"Only it wasn't the Eone. It was the Aeternals. A woman called Morwen."

"How are you so sure?" Selisimus said.

"Because she said Tamas was now their prison. She had to be referring to the Eone. They're the ones who possessed Tamas, but this Morwen believes the Eone are imprisoned within Tamas, leaving the Aeternals free to take the Etherweave."

"I'm confused. Aren't you and Tamas the heirs to the Etherweave?" Wellard said.

"Tamas said the Eone created the Etherweave. But he learned that from the Eone, and they likely lied. Perhaps it was the Aeternals who were the real creators. Maybe that's why they believe they will succeed." I slapped my hands on my sides. "I don't know. I'm guessing here. "

"Or maybe both the Eone and the Aeternals created it, and that's why neither died during this war the Opus of Verdantus mentions."

"Yes, Plesy, sound thinking," Tortilus said. "Both parties grew greedy, each wanting to control the Etherweave for themselves, and that is why the war began. And since both factions were equally powerful, none could defeat the other. Instead, they ended up caging themselves behind the veil."

"But now the Eone have mistakenly imprisoned themselves within Tamas when they possessed him, leaving the Aeternals the victors," Selisimus added.

"But the Etherweave is this side of the veil, and Aeternals are on the other side. How do they plan on winning?" Wellard said.

"The veil is weakening, and I'm certain they sense it. It may only be a matter of time before it falls." All eyes turned to me, but no one said a word, not even Osmud, who usually delighted in pointing out my failings. They had every right to accuse me, to shout and blame me, because it was my fault the veil might fall. But the Mother had also played me.

"So…you…" Plesy stammered. "Did you say that you entered the mind of one of the Aeternals? Like possessed them?"

I stared at him.

"Which means you crossed the veil." Tortilus caught hold of Plesy's meaning.

"Has that weakened the veil more so?" I heard the fear in Wellard's voice.

"That's also powerful magic." Tortilus's voice was full of awe .

I shook my head. "Not magic. I'm a spiritweaver..." A spiritweaver normally couldn't cross the veil. That's not what spiritweavers did. But how could I be sure, knowing so little about the craft?

‘On your own, you don't have the strength to cross the veil,' the Mother added.

‘And with our combined will, I do? Is that what you're going to tell me?'

"What happens to Tamas if the veil falls?" Osmud said.

I shook my head, unable to handle speaking with Osmud and the Mother simultaneously. "I have to reach him," I mumbled, half conscious of the words I spoke.

Osmud threw up his hands. "Finally, you're talking sense. If you would give us a definitive direction…"

‘You possessed me to gain access not only to the Etherweave but also to the other side of the veil?'

‘Stupid girl, why would I do that?'

"I can't," I murmured, focusing more on the cryptic words of the Mother, then giving Osmud a straightforward answer.

"Tressya? Are you all right?" Bryra said.

"Yes. The Mother is bothering me." I pressed my hands to my temples.

‘Tell me the truth,' I insisted.

‘The veil will fall. It is inevitable. That fate was prophesied even before King Ricaud died, over a millennium ago.' I could almost feel her rolling her eyes at my naivety. ‘You needed to learn what you were up against. The Aeternals are right. You can forget the Razohan beast; he's at the mercy of the Eone. The Aeternals are your true nemesis. You had to learn as much, and that's why I forced your mind to reach across the veil while you were vulnerable in sleep, and again when you pathetically tried to force your way inside my head.'

‘You did that?'

‘Do not think I'm powerless as a mere spirit. But listen to me: you must reach the Etherweave before the Aeternals do. You know where to go and how to get there, faster than on foot. This means leaving this pitiable band of misfits behind.'

"Tressya, I'm sorry, but we should get moving." Bryra's voice came through in the echo of the Mother's words.

"Yes." I nodded.

There had to be another way to reach the Etherweave and Tamas without abandoning my friends, but how long did we have before the veil fell, releasing the Aeternals?

The Mother was referring to the untamed, stolen soul of the winged Ashenlands beast. She wanted me to assume its form and leave my friends. I would reach the mountain in no time, but that would mean leaving my friends vulnerable, and I couldn't take that risk. Still, I couldn't stop my attention from shifting inward, curious about the wild and savage soul tearing through my mind.

Someone seized my wrist in a cruel hold. "Not that way," came the fierce snarl.

I opened my eyes and stared into Osmud's barbarous glare. "Do that and you're no help to Tamas. It will consume you, Tressya." I wrenched my grip from him. "Trust me. I know. I've got plenty of souls inside of me, but that damn Ashenlands beast I took on during the war hasn't given me a moment's peace. And I've been doing this for a lot longer than you. Searching through memories is an ale house trick. You think you understand how to tame souls. Sorry, lassie, you don't know a thing."

I pressed my hand to my forehead, squeezing my eyes closed. "But there's nothing there," I spat in agitation, feeling no call from the Etherweave. "There's nothing."

The ground beneath me trembled as the night became illuminated with a display of brilliantly lit energy the likes of which I had never witnessed before.

"We're trapped," Wellard cried. "This is our end."

The Salmun had arrived.

This confrontation was unavoidable. No amount of haste could have forestalled it. "Let me deal with them. The rest of you stand behind me."

I faced the direction of their approach and waited. Enacting the Mother's ability in soul voice, combining it with my soul word, I should be able to deal with their advance easily enough. Though it was surprising how boldly and noisily they approached through the forest, sending out energy streaks to announce their arrival, given how decisively I had defeated them in our last encounter. Or perhaps there was a reason they didn't bother with stealth.

‘Powerful adversaries are rarely fooled a second time,' the Mother said.

I glanced over my shoulder at the apostles, huddling together. Tortilus was rummaging through Selisimus' pack, allowing prized volumes to drop to the ground. "How about you guys come up with some magic of your own?"

"My thoughts entirely," Tortilus replied, his head half buried in Selisimus' pack .

"What's concerning you?" Bryra came up beside me.

"Twice I've tricked them. I doubt they'll be that easily fooled a third time. Your speed will be beneficial." I included Osmud in my glance. "Take to the trees now, before they arrive. Hunt them from behind. But don't take unnecessary risks."

Bryra nodded and then vanished, transforming into her magnificent beast form just before she disappeared from sight. Osmud lingered for a moment longer, giving me a wink, before he too disappeared.

I turned to the apostles, now gathered around a book. "You don't have long to come up with something useful," I warned.

"Are you sure?" Wellard addressed Tortilus, peering down at the pages of the book, while Plesy provided the meager light for them to read by.

"You heard Tressya. This is the best I can come up with."

"You're right. We have no time to scour every volume," Plesy said.

"Right," Tortilus announced. "Everyone sure of the words?"

The other three nodded.

"Mind the second stanza. At least one word gets caught on the tongue." He turned to me and elaborated. "It all must be said correctly for this to work."

"I believe you. Just do it," I said.

"Right, Brethren. We're needed. Time to prove our worth." And he held out his hands to Selisimus and Plesy, who distinguished his conjured light by a wave of his hand.

Whatever they intended to do was bound to fail. I felt guilty for having so little faith in their abilities, but so far, all they had managed was to conjure light, which served only as an extra signal to the Salmun of our location.

I turned back to face our oncoming enemy and tried to shut out the apostles' chanting. Driven by my raging pulse, the untamed soul residing within lashed and swirled, interfering with my concentration to harness Aetherius.

‘Contain the creature or control your mind,' the Mother snapped. ‘I can't help you otherwise. It's like scooping sand with a loosely woven net.'

‘I'm trying.'

The pathfinder's feral instincts were too addictive to ignore. I gritted my teeth, allowing my claws to pierce through the tips of my fingers and embed into the soft flesh of my fisted hands, hoping the pain would liberate me from the pathfinder's overwhelming desires.

A shimmering haze appeared before my eyes, and the sweet taste of magic danced on the back of my tongue, turning sour as I swallowed it.

"It's working," Wellard shouted.

"Concentrate," Tortilus admonished him.

I glanced behind me to see the shimmering haze encasing the five of us like a protective shield, reminiscent of the Salmun's magic on the night of the northerners' attack. The hue cast a soft glow around us. Hopefully, their shield wouldn't act like a candle flame, attracting all the creatures of the Ashenlands. The apostles were observing their handiwork with obvious amazement while keeping their rhythmic chanting.

I squinted through the darkness, but the Salmun kept themselves out of sight, not making a sound. It would be foolish to think they were acting cautiously because of me. Had they fanned out to surround us?

A sudden cry of agony preceded a burst of light. I had a second to think of Osmud and Bryra when the Salmun's ferocious attack slammed into the shield. Wellard let out a cry and stumbled backward, losing contact with Selisimus and Plesy. A stark white light rippled over the shield like ants consuming a carcass, causing it to vibrate. In places, the shield flared a bright green upon contact with the Salmun's retaliatory magic before settling back to its dull glow.

"You fool," Tortilus hissed at Wellard. "Take his hand."

"Wellard," Plesy grumbled, leaning over to snatch Wellard's hand back.

Cracks, like spider's web, appeared in their shield.

"Hurry," Tortilus barked.

"We can't hold it," Wellard groaned, as if he had felt the Salmun's attack on a personal level.

"Don't be so feeble," Tortilus admonished him. "Tressya is relying on us."

No sooner had he uttered his determination, the Salmun hit with yet more force. This time causing the shield to bow and buckle. Wellard fell to his knees with a cry, while Selisimus growled through gritted teeth, resolved to hang on as best he could.

Somewhere off to our right, another piercing cry rent the air. Was that thanks to Bryra or Osmud?

Wellard was right. Two attacks and the apostles were already suffering. I inhaled deep and forced the breath out in a long, slow growl. Aetherius appeared ever so willing to do my bidding. And latched on to its power was the pathfinder, thinking it had found a way out. Its unhinged mind and predatory needs made it a heavy burden to drag forth and manipulate, and my soul word turned into an unmanageable force, infecting my mind with savage yearnings and monstrous ideas.

‘Discipline,' the Mother shouted. ‘You've lost control of your soul word. You'll lose control of the beast as well.'

I clutched my head and staggered backward, my claws digging through my scalp until blood trickled down into my eyes. I was only dimly aware of the third Salmun attack. Someone wailed, but it sounded too far away for me to care.

An agony unlike any I'd ever felt before wracked my body as I began shifting. This was the second time I had transformed, both times outside of my control.

‘Fight for control,' the Mother commanded. Aetherius, my soul word responded, spurred by the power of the Mother's soul voice echoing in my head. But it was already too late. Her soul voice glanced off the armor that was the pathfinder's mental chaos, as it surged forth in my mind, diminishing my ability to wield my soul word. Quickly, the Mother's presence faded into the depths of my consciousness as the pathfinder's soul mind became my own.

Curses, I wasn't transforming into the Razohan beast, but something perhaps far more deadly.

My claws transformed into talons as sharp as blades, my arms extended into large wings covered in thick hide, and my torso twisted into a grotesque form with bowed hindquarters, an arched spine, and a protruding ribcage. I screamed through the torment as bones cracked and reshaped, my facial features elongated, and piercing teeth cut through my gums. Enduring such torture seemed impossible, yet I knew I would. This was the true gift of the Razohan, the power of shapeshifting, and I was determined to master it. All I needed was to maintain my sanity and resist being swept away by the pathfinder's savage whims once I became its form.

Briefly, I heard a shout and a name I recognized as my own before I succumbed to the urge to arch my head back and release a shrill screech. Overwhelmed by the desire to take flight, I spread my wings, but at the last moment, I resisted the impulse to soar into the sky, for I would surely be lost.

Suddenly, an uncanny noise rippled through the air, a deep resonant vibration that irritated my ears and reverberated down to my bones. I shook my large head, as if trying to dispel the sound, then noticed the clarity of my surroundings. At first, I attributed it to the pathfinder's enhanced vision, until I realized that the apostle's shield had vanished.

The Salmun had destroyed it.