The Keys to Ascension Read online

  The battle raged on. The ground become a mass of white bodies and blood. A few more Citians fell, but soon the entire army of ice men lay dead. Kericles and his bands cheered.

  Finio ran toward the closest fallen ally. He held his hand over him. C’moooon. Heaaaal. The wizard said to think of wounds mending, almost like a song soothing the person to health. Finio concentrated on the high being, on himself, and on the lifeless armored body under him. A pleasant fire burned through him and toward his hand. It lit up, just like the sorceress’s hand had. He held it over the man’s head.

  Finio could kinda see the gore through the visor, the bloody spear lay next to him. The gore turned to pure skin. A bit of happiness sparked in Finio at healing wounds, but the man remained lifeless because he was already dead. Finio’s efforts were worthless. He bent over and cried. “Oh The Divinity! Whyyyyy!?”

  Kericles yelled, “Are any of the fallen alive?”

  The men checked, all shaking their heads ‘no’.

  Finio stood, hanging his head low. My power is useless.

  Kericles approached him. “Death is a part of battle. We won a glorious victory today. These men died the way any good Citian would want to. And you learned to heal! You will heal many in the future. Rrrwhaaaaaaaaaaaa!” He thrust a hammer into the air.

  Other warriors responded with their own yells. Finio smiled, then chuckled before throwing his hand up. “Rwhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” Guilt from failing the dead still partially fogged his brain, but they had won a sweeping victory, which saved many lives.

  A ship appeared on the horizon. The men shut up and ran to their battle line.

  “It’s a Citian ship,” someone said.

  “Here to witness our victory,” Kericles said, “Rrrwhaaaaaaaaaaa!”

  The shouts of triumph rebounded until the ship arrived.

  Finio expected to see Citian warriors ready to start their adventure in the torn lands, but he did not. The men on board leaned a ramp from the edge of the ship. A single man on horseback rode down it.

  He approached them. “I am looking for the men from Kelinium.”

  They all glanced toward each other. One said, “I think a servant girl mentioned them. They held some land up north somewhere. A few towns in from the coast.”

  The man nodded. “Thank you. I will look for them, but if you find them, I have an open message from their king. He demands that all his men return home. Actus and Hyzantria have gone to war with The League. We need all available men to defeat the traitors and The Empire.”

  #

  All the Citians knew that their days in the Torn Lands were over. War was upon them; war with the great empire of their time: Hyzantria. Kericles sent scouts to the squires telling them to meet at the landing spot. Still in their armor, the Actians walked up the coast. They had said goodbye to their allies wondering whether they’d next meet as enemies.

  Kericles lifted his visor. “Cousin, my dad is a fool. How could he be in bed with foreigners against The League?”

  “How,” Finio said, “could Citians kill Aunt Herania?”

  “I don’t know who killed my mom, and neither does dad. He’s a blustering idiot and always has been. My brothers are jerks too. If they were all deposed, I’d be king.”

  “But…your mom.”

  “Messengers from the other kings say the Hyzantrians did it. They would execute such a plot. I should avenge my mother by defeating the Hyzantrians and my own foolish father.”

  The short waves came in and went back out. Finio wanted to lay down and sleep, but he kept walking.

  Kericles halted. So did his men. He turned to them. “Who here is loyal to his prince who he has sweat, fought, and bled with? Loyal above all else?”

  The armored men lifted their giant weapons into the air. “Yeeaaaaa! Rwhaaaaa!”

  Finio stood still.

  Kericles looked at him. “You, cousin?”

  Finio wanted to know what happened. He needed to review the evidence. If the Citian League did kill his aunt, he wanted vengeance and was glad to use his people to get it. He didn’t care about the Citian’s fear of Hyzantria. He was Hyzantrian. But Hyzantria wanted him dead. If he didn’t show support to Kericles, in this atmosphere, his cousin might kill him where he stands. That made the decision.

  Finio nodded. “Of course, I support my brothers in arms.”

  The warrior band yelled and shook their weapons.

  Ch. 44

  Every few seconds, water dripped from somewhere in the cave, seeming to echo. Light from the opening dimmed as Parto worked his way deeper into the hole. Interesting rock formations created plenty of cover for him to hide behind. He crept forward even though he’d yet to see evidence of human life.

  Sometimes I wonder how the Inquisition gets its intelligence. They ordered him to come to this cave in northeastern Hyzantria to find out what was going on, bring back intelligence, and if possible: kill every wizard.

  Keeping a hand on his long dagger, he wondered if bears or some unknown cave creatures dwelled in the darkness. Walking deeper in, he left all light behind. His ears and a hand led him forward. The rough cave rock on his fingers reminded him of The Divinity. He’s hard to see, but guides us never the less.

  After following a few bends, he saw flickering light reflecting from the wall of the next turn. Something within him urged nervousness at who created the yet unseen fire, but his training kicked in. He remained silent and resolute to his mission.

  Sticking his head around the next corner revealed a gaping cavern and a huge stone structure. A row of round pilums held up the front of the building. It looked like some sort of temple. From under the arch that led into the building, flickered the fire. Low chanting sounded from within, and the shadows of humans were cast upon the floor.

  Open ground separated Parto from the temple. He scanned the cave walls around the structure, then saw a small opening high up. He turned back into the darkness, feeling the wall for a tunnel. His hand pushed into air. He ducked, and moved forward through the tunnel until eventually seeing light again.

  From a vantage point, he observed the solid dull stone of the temple’s right wall. He climbed down, finding footing in the bumpy cave wall. Low chanting came from the temple. He walked along its side toward its rear, hoping to find another entrance. Behind the structure the cave dead-ended. The temple had a solid stone back—no way in.

  Parto crept toward the front. He crouched next to the large entrance, listening. People chanted in unison. He discerned four voices. Every once in a while, a sob or shuffling emanated from the room. Prisoners?

  He wanted to peak his head around the corner and see what in The Divinity’s world was going on. But he’d be seen.

  The chanting halted. Someone walked up steps then spoke in a priestly voice. “Behold. The ritual is almost complete. The estra, the slaves, and our magic is intertwined. All…ready to be consumed for our transformation. We will serve the high beings on this world. As it should be!”

  Louder chanting came from the four voices. The priestly voice joined in. Men, women, and children screamed. Parto had to see! He poked his head into the archway, hoping that the height of this maleefa ritual would distract all eyes.

  A large fire burned in the center of a rectangular room. On all four sides of the fire, peasants lay tied up—a man, child, and two women. They screamed as estra ore pressed into their skin from above and the sides, like some power forced it in. The rare mineral dissolved and the peasants turned green. Standing a few yards behind each victim, a person stood in a dark robe, chanting. At the end of the room, a man in a red robe chanted on top of a raised floor surrounded by steps.

  Parto somersaulted silently into the room and snuck toward a dark corner. The peasants screamed and rolled on the ground, tears and blood coming from their eyes. Parto wanted to help, but he couldn’t risk his mission. He couldn’t kill all five wizards before they could get him.

  The victims and the estra blasted into green smoke that rose and dissi
pated. In their stead, lay small piles of translucent purple shards—like amethysts.

  One of the robed chanters threw off his hood. His dark curls hung an inch from his head around his smooth, young face. He spoke in the accent of the Hyzantrian northeastern nobility. “All that work for a few handfuls of possession crystals. This will give one of us, what? A few hours of ascension? Why hasn’t one of the estra nobles come over? Or even better, we find keys of permanence?” He glared at another robed figure.

  It turned toward the young man, then said in a middle-aged female voice, “I lost them long ago. I wasn’t the one keeping care of them.” She spoke in a normal noble accent of those who live around the capital and in most of Hyzantria.

  The two other dark robed figures approached the crystals and gathered them in leather pouches.

  The red robed-man walked down the steps. Speaking in a noble Hyzantrian accent, he said, “Who knows if the ritual of permanence would have worked anyways. It’s all theoretical. But we must try. It’s the ultimate goal. If we can’t find these keys, we’ll have to do the hard work of forming others.”

  The young man raised his body and opened his mouth, but the elder spoke first. “I know we’ve been trying and failing; it’s so hard to get the keys of permanence ritual exactly right. But it has been done before. We will find a way to do it again.”

  The two who gathered the crystals walked toward an exit in the corner of the room.

  With sleep poison I can capture and interrogate one of them. I’ve got to know what’s going on!

  The young man threw his hands in the air. “I would have never lost the keys! What incompetence! Every day that we live without permanent ascension is a day of evil. We—”

  The red-robed man held out a thick, hairy hand. He spoke softly. “With enough crystals we can still overthrow The Divinity. Then we’ll have all the time, power, and resources to figure out permanence.”

  A yellow ball that pulsated with light floated into the room releasing a high pitch humming noise. The five wizards snapped their heads toward the ball. It headed right toward Parto, its humming getting louder.

  Parto launched a throwing dagger at the wizard in red, then sprinted toward the exit. Some force blew the dagger to the side. A fire ball flew toward Parto. He ducked and it exploded against the wall behind him, lashing him with heat. The yellow ball kept following.

  The young man’s hand lit up, some sort of mist, in which snow-looking particles danced, blasted from his hand. At the same time, lightning jumped from one of the formerly leaving wizard’s palm. Parto dashed ahead of the mist, but the lightning came too fast, he lifted his arm to block it—the arm with the guard given by Her.

  The electricity jerked his arm toward him while he ran, but the guard absorbed the magic. He wanted to freeze and gawk at its power, but instead kept running, then leapt over another mist attack, ducked under more lightning, and leapt again over a great fireball. As he jumped, he unsheathed his long dagger, and swung it backwards and downwards, cutting through the yellow ball that followed him. Its humming went extremely high for half a second before lowering in a dying noise as the glowing ball darkened and fell to the ground in two halves.

  At the same time, the ball of flame Parto jumped over exploded on the ground. Parto angled his leap so the fire’s blast pushed him out the exit. The wizards shouted as he rolled on the cave ground outside. He sprinted toward the overlooking hole he climbed down from.

  He jumped onto the side of the cave and scaled it into the vantage point before laying down where no one could see him. A few of the wizards ran into the open cave in front of the temple.

  From inside, the older man’s voice yelled, “There could be more. Evacuate. Jonius. Send the mental evac warning.”

  From his robes, Parto fished out a certain small vial of sleeping poison. He quickly dipped each of his darts into it, then resealed the vial and hid it his soft clothing. The wizards ran back inside.

  They must have an underground escape route.

  Ideally, inquisitors were not seen until they struck, then disappeared. But, these people were a threat to Hyzantria. He had to capture one of them.

  He climbed down, then silently dashed to the opening archway. He paused, listening for an enemy. He poked an eye around the corner then flashed it back in case a magical attack flew toward him. He saw none and no one. He did the maneuver a few more times before dashing into the temple.

  There were two exits in the back of the room. He sprinted toward one on the right, hoping for a lucky guess. Running through a hallway, he listened for sounds of fleeing wizards. He glanced into rooms as he ran by. They had rows of beds, small book cases, and chests. Another room was empty but the walls were splattered with a variety of colors. The hallway ended in another room.

  Parto dashed into it, ready to evade magical attacks. In a corner, a stairwell went down, but between it and him stood five large wolves with glowing eyes. The alpha male growled. They all leaned toward him, showing their rows of teeth. Parto ran toward the beasts, not slowing down. He pulled out his long dagger.

  The wolves didn’t have time to react to the speed of his assault. He rammed his dagger into the skull of the head wolf, then leapt over the other four while pulling his dagger with him. He glanced down the stairs to see no one on them. Stabbing through the gut of the rear wolf who had yet to turn around, he pulled out his medium dagger in case another wolf jumped on him. Two of the animals collapsed dead, but the other three attacked.

  Parto evaded their lunges while slicing under two of their throats with his medium dagger, then he held out his long dagger as one jumped at him. The blade went into the wolf’s mouth and out the back of its head as Parto braced against its momentum. He flung the animal off his weapon before sheathing both daggers.

  Dashing down the stairs, he listened for his targets. On the floor, a hallway led to more cave. He ran toward the exit, pumping his legs. He had to find them before they reached a fork in the cave. Right as he arrived at the temple’s exit, he noticed a shimmered field covering it. He couldn’t completely stop his momentum. He reared back and put up his left arm, letting his armguard hit the field first.

  His arm smashed through the shield, which flashed into the arm guard. Parto stared at it. What is this thing?

  An explosion went off ahead, followed by tumbling rocks. Parto slowed to a jog, then to a walk as he watched the cave in front of him collapse, blocking his path. He wanted to moan in anger and flop onto the floor to rest, but he couldn’t. He had to get out of there and report what he saw. Plus, there could have been magic traps set to kill him.

  #

  Parto stood at attention in front of his grand inquisitor, maintaining his straight body posture as he spoke. “But, sir, these guys have power we don’t even understand, and their goal is our overthrow. They will take Hyzantria down from the inside. We have to get after them now.”

  The older inquisitor whose hood lay on his back, smiled knowingly. “I believe you, despite your lack of evidence. But the immediate threat is the war. We need our best killers like you on the battlefield. We’ll send some candidates to clean the place out and figure out where the maleefa coven ran to.”

  Parto saw the power of his foes. He should be the one going after them because he was the best. This plan sounded like a way to get novice candidates killed.

  “Heh. Don’t worry,” his superior officer said, “There are plenty of wizards to slay on the Citian islands.”

  Ch. 45

  Theto and the other students sat in rows in the gym. The heat of exploding fire and the blasts of shockwaves pressed against the watching students as Number One and Number Two battled it out. This fight meant everything to both of them. In order to graduate early, Number One had to maintain his position as Number One for three weeks straight. If he lost, he had to regain Number One and the time started all over.

  The Master waved the students back. They jumped to their feet and jogged away about ten yards as Number One and
Number Two flashed toward and away from each other with steel and magic. Finally, Number Two snuck in a blow to Number One’s side. The Master’s shield shattered as the students’ gasped. Number Two was now Number One.

  The Master commanded, “Twenty-Seven. Twenty-Eight. Prepare to fight.”

  Theto, and Perlio jumped to their feet. Each went to their racks to grab two swords. In the past week Theto had defeated three different twenty-nines and Perlio had failed to defeat the same twenty-six the same amount of times. Swinging both his arms to warm up, a little guilt ran over Theto. He knew he had to beat his friend with the swordsmanship he taught him.

  Theto thought about the illusions he made during practice. He wanted to use one in a fight, but had yet to do it. It was so much easier to perform alone than under the pressure of attack.

  The Master’s shields sucked to both students then became invisible. He yelled, “Go!”

  Theto watched Perlio’s swords and eyes. I won’t be surprised by a sound blast this time.

  Perlio approached, his two small swords held at different angles. Theto adjusted his own in preparation. Perlio attacked. They serenaded the gym with clanging swords. Confidence and focus congealed with every part of Theto’s mind. As the swords came at him, he parried, not yet needing to dodge. He anticipated Perlio’s moves and reacted as soon as Perlio did.

  This time I actually know how to fight.

  His thoughts focused on his opponent’s blades as Theto blocked attack after attack. Something in Theto warned him: he had to actually strike to win. He wanted to attack. He was more comfortable in attack-mode, but his opponent’s blades kept coming—from his upper right, from sides, jabbed toward his face, jabbed toward his gut and chest, from underneath, from everywhere.