Awaken the Three Page 2

  Standing in front of them were three men in long robes—dark blue with a white border—and one of them was holding a blazing torch above his head. Behind them, emerging from the tents, were perhaps twenty armored men brandishing knives and swords.

  “So,” the man with the torch began. “Do you think you can simply walk into the house of Djozen Yelto?” He had cloudy gray eyes and spoke with the accent of the western tribes. But neither of those things was what signified he was a Priest of the Holder; those two things alone would have been tolerable for Rathma.

  It was the fact that the servants of the Holder of the Dead had their flesh from the neck up stripped away by some awful power, leaving their eyes permanently open and all of their facial muscles exposed. That was what disturbed Rathma more than anything.

  “Ah,” Rathma said. “We should have knocked.”

  “Take them,” said the priest.

  But as the swarm of men descended on the two young men from beyond the Wastes, in the blink of an eye, Rathma disappeared from sight.

  Chapter 2

  The Otherworld

  D’kane

  New and overwhelming power was coursing through D’kane, yet still he was trapped.

  In the distance behind him, as tall as a mountain, was the lifeless husk of the former Breaker of the Dawn, from whom D’kane had drawn his power. He had the ancient god to thank for the surging and nearly incomprehensible strength inside of him, yes, but there was another ancient power with which he still had to contend.

  A power that stood before him now, in defiance.

  D’kane frowned. “What have you done?” he breathed. His eyes still stung from the earlier explosion of power.

  “I’ve trapped us both here,” she answered, “where your power will be useless.”

  The being before him, whose form was that of a young woman, was somehow different than the one D’kane had overpowered back in Derenar. Although her physical form was the same—blonde with blue eyes and a smallish figure covered by a worn white dress that had seen its fair share of scuffles—her presence had changed. Even her voice was different: it now commanded authority and made him uncomfortable. He had known that the woman had the blood of the Shaper flowing through her, but it was clear to him now that she indeed was the Shaper of Ages, not just the goddess’s descendant.

  “You’re confined to the Otherworld,” she continued, “like the Binder and I always intended.”

  Yes: this was the goddess who had crafted the Hammer and the Anvil of the Worldforge, the one whose power had trapped him here.

  Yet hers was not the only power D’kane felt. There was another power, somewhere, that seemed to be calling to him. Distant. Familiar. Faint. Tugging at him, as if some part of him had just woken up.

  He regarded the Shaper with callous contempt. “Very well. I may not have the ability to leave this world, but I am under no obligation to give up trying. I will find a way.”

  The clashing of two titanic powers had already proven to be destructive, and D’kane wanted to find out just how destructive it could be.

  He’d already destroyed two gods—what was one more?

  Chapter 3

  Kienar

  Thornton

  Thornton Woods knelt over the unconscious body of his sister as he struggled to reconcile what now lay in front of him. After Yasha had experienced the surge of power that came with the Breaking, her skin had blistered and cracked all over, looking like a piece of lumber that had been licked by too much flame. Her reddish-orange hair was just about the only thing that was familiar to Thornton as he stood up beneath the trees of Kienar. He knew that he had changed too, and he wasn’t sure how the rest of the world would react. His eyes, once a simple dark brown, now swirled angrily with the power of the Otherworld, identifying him as Khyth to anyone who saw them. It was another thing he and his sister had in common now.

  “We should be off,” came a deep rumbling from behind.

  Thornton turned to see Endar Half-Eye, commander of the Athrani Legion, with his massive sword resting casually over one shoulder. Beside him was Thuma, his second-in-command. Thuma was a big man in his own right, and a full-blooded Athrani, as was evidenced by his brown-on-brown eyes that marked him as being touched by the Otherworld.

  “Ellenos awaits our return,” Endar said with a grin, “and there is a great deal of celebrating to be done.” The big half-eye—the product of a marriage between an Athrani father and a human mother—looked to the west, where the seat of the Athrani government lay. It was a few days’ march for healthy men, longer for those recovering from fresh battle wounds.

  “Ready the men, Thuma. I’ve gone without Ellenian ale for too long.”

  “Aye, Commander,” Thuma said, saluting. The big Athrani turned to carry out his orders, disappearing into the sea of soldiers.

  But Thornton was in no mood to celebrate, and the frown on his lips said as much. He had been torn from his childhood friend Miera in a situation he did not fully understand. From what he gathered, though, she was the goddess incarnate known as the Shaper of Ages, and she had sealed herself away in the Otherworld in order to prevent the Breaker of the Dawn from escaping. Thornton was hazy on the details; the world of the Khyth—of Breaking, and of their ancient feud with the Athrani—was still very foreign to him. He scanned the faces of the men, a mixture of humans and Athrani, looking for one he recognized.

  Specifically, he was looking for his father, Olson.

  The big man would have been easy to spot: tall and muscular with a sturdy frame paid for by years of working over a blacksmith’s forge, and a thick brown beard that matched the color of Thornton’s own hair. So when he was unable to spot him among the men who were still steeped in their victory celebration, he began to worry.

  The trees of Kienar, numerous and mighty, blocked out all but the most persistent rays of sunlight, blanketing the earth with jagged shadows. Thornton’s eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, though, and they continued the search for his father. As they wandered, they fell upon a regal black figure who was exchanging emphatic words with someone he could not see. As he approached, Thornton saw that it was in fact two black figures: Kethras and Ynara, children of the forest of Kienar, who stood in apparent opposition to each other.

  “I will not leave you, Ynara. This forest is just as much my home as it is yours,” Kethras growled. His voice was deep and rough, booming like a landslide.

  Thornton had only seen the two Kienari argue once before, and it was a frightening sight to behold. Taller than him by almost two feet, Kethras and Ynara looked the way hunters were meant to look: sleek and sinewy, with movements as quick as they were strong. The fine black fur that covered their bodies served to make them nearly invisible in the shadows, with only the flashing of their sharp teeth to give them away as they talked.

  “It is not your choice, brother,” Ynara said calmly. Her voice, while softer than Kethras’s, had a sharp quality to it that always reminded Thornton of a carving knife being dragged across a block of wood. “You know just as well as I do that one of us must leave. And now that the mantle of Binder has been passed to me, it is I who must remain.”

  Thornton thought he could hear a sadness in her firm words. He approached as Kethras drooped his wiry shoulders in defeat. The two Kienari turned toward him when they heard him approach.

  “Has your sister woken yet?” Ynara asked, peering from behind the taller figure of her brother. Her great black eyes and cat-like face made her look threatening even as she smiled.

  “No,” Thornton answered. He was still getting used to hearing people call Yasha his sister, a fact that he had only recently discovered. “Endar already suggested tying her to a horse so we can leave . . . I don’t know how serious he was.” He looked back at the commander of the Athrani Legion, who was making sure all of his men were prepared to make for home, stopping occasionall
y to shoot suspicious glances at the young Khyth woman sleeping beneath the trees.

  “Give it time and she will awaken,” Ynara answered. “She has been through a great deal, and we all owe her much.”

  Thornton nodded as Kethras turned to him, looking solemn as ever. The tall Kienari wore a quiver on his back, empty from having fired off all his arrows in defense of the forest.

  “If she does not awaken soon,” Kethras said, “you and I can take turns carrying her.”

  Thornton was surprised at his words—not because he was offering to carry a Khyth, but because he would apparently be coming along. He studied the dark face of the Kienari before finding the words to respond. “You’re coming with us?” he asked. “To Ellenos?”

  Kethras looked to his sister before nodding an affirmation. “I am,” he rumbled. The words sounded forced. “Ynara insists. I must speak to the High Keeper.”

  And though he wouldn’t have let the Kienari catch on, Thornton felt relief at the revelation. He didn’t like being carted away by the Athrani army, but if he would have Kethras to talk to, he felt that he could at least tolerate it. It was comforting to have a familiar face around—even if it was covered in fur. The thought made him smile to himself, but it faded just as quickly as he remembered why he had come over in the first place.

  “Ynara,” Thornton began, “I can’t find my father anywhere. Endar said the last time he saw him was when he sent him to Naknamu.” He indicated the Old One, the tallest tree in the forest. “Have you seen him?”

  Ynara frowned as she glanced at Kethras, almost too quickly for Thornton to see. But not quickly enough.

  “What?” Thornton asked. “What is it?”

  “Your father,” Ynara said, “is in the Otherworld.”

  The words stung, robbing Thornton of breath. The Otherworld. He’d already lost one person he cared for to the clutches of the ethereal plane; he hadn’t been prepared to lose two. “But Miera had you seal it when she sent us back,” he protested. “Why didn’t she send him through too?” Thornton furrowed his brow as he looked for answers in the faces of the two Kienari. It was no use, though; their expressions offered nothing.

  Ynara reached out her great branch of an arm and rested it on Thornton’s shoulder. “That is for the Shaper to know, young one. I cannot say.”

  Her words did nothing to comfort Thornton as he shrugged off the hand with a scowl. He looked again at the tree where he had found himself earlier after being jettisoned from the Otherworld by a selfless Miera. The reminder that both his father and his closest friend were somewhere on the other side only served to upset him even more. He almost spoke his displeasure aloud but thought better of it. He knew Ynara had sealed off the bridge to the Otherworld, just as Miera had asked, but now that he knew his father was over there too, he began to wonder just how sturdy the seal was. He felt the weight of the white-ash-handled hammer that hung from his back—the hammer that had somehow been the key to opening and closing the gate. The same hammer he had held since he was a child. The hammer that seemed to be pulling on him in a way he had not felt before.

  Before he could give it more thought, though, Ynara spoke up.

  “You must not dwell on it. The greatest danger to all life, the Breaker of the Dawn, is no longer a threat to us thanks to Miera. And thanks to your father,” she said. The words hung in the air. “Miera wouldn’t have been able to do what she did without his help.”

  The surface of the old tree, Naknamu, was rough and dark, and gave almost no indication of being as old as people said it was. Supposedly it was old even when mankind was young. Thornton rubbed his eyes before looking it over again. Its great branches shot out in all directions, and the leaves were broader than most men’s hands. If nothing else, Naknamu was sturdy, a testament to the hardiness of the Kienari who guarded its branches.

  Thornton pushed his thoughts away for the time being. As he did, Kethras nodded in the direction of his sister.

  “Look,” he said. “She stirs.”

  Thornton whirled around to see Yasha moving, which was more than she had done since they had found themselves forced out of the Otherworld. She started to sit up but fell back to the ground beneath her own weight. She’s still too weak, Thornton thought. He hurried over to help her.

  “Don’t move too much,” he said as he came close. “Ynara says you’re still weak.”

  “Who?” Yasha asked. Her swirling green eyes looked at Thornton, then past him to the trees that surrounded them. “Where are we?” she asked weakly. “The last thing I remember . . .”

  Realizing that unconsciousness had deprived her of quite a bit, Thornton knelt down and put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. We’re in Kienar with friends.” He looked up to see Kethras approaching. “You remember Kethras, don’t you?”

  Yasha looked up and down the slim frame of the Kienari as recognition filled her eyes. “Of course,” she said. “How could I forget someone that scared me half to death the first time we met?”

  “In my defense, I’d never met a Khyth that didn’t try to kill me.” Kethras took a knee to look her in the eye, baring his teeth in what Thornton had grown to recognize as a smile. He offered a strong black hand to her as Thornton did the same, helping Yasha gently to her feet.

  As the young Khyth woman brushed herself off, bits of dirt and leaves fell from the gray robes of an apprentice. She stopped when she looked up, having just seen where she actually was. Her eyes went wide as she stared in awe at the immense forest that surrounded them. “So this is Kienar,” she said in a hushed tone. “It’s . . . amazing.”

  From what Yasha had said about her life before, Thornton knew this might be one of the first times she had ever seen a forest. The black mountain walls that comprised the Sunken City of Khala Val’ur let in no sunlight, and the only life beneath them was the humans and the Khyth who called the city home. Thornton watched as his sister admired the living forest around them.

  “If she can stand, she can ride,” came the voice of Endar. The tall half-eye was walking toward them, sword still in hand, unarmored from the waist up. His salt-and-pepper hair framed a strong jaw that made his sharp green eyes stand out even more, especially the left one, which rested on a red background that indicated his maternal Athrani heritage. Thornton still hadn’t worked out just how Athrani heredity worked, but he was hoping to learn more when they eventually made their way to their capital city.

  Ynara chimed in. “If she must ride, then I have just the mount.” The younger Kienari approached holding the reins of a small brown mare that Thornton immediately recognized.

  “Matilda!” He laughed. “What are you doing here?” He ran his fingers through the dark brown mane of the animal he’d known for years, as she shook her head happily. Matty had been hauling Miera’s flower cart to and from the city of Lusk for as long as Thornton could remember. She was old, trusty, and apparently happy to be in a place filled with delicious grass.

  “She was a gracious traveling companion,” Ynara said, handing Thornton the reins. “She’s seen more of Derenar and Gal’dorok than most horses her age ever will.”

  The explanation was good enough for Thornton, who was smiling again at the sight of another familiar furry face. The reunion was almost enough to push aside thoughts of his father.

  Almost.

  “Then we should get moving,” Endar said. “Sh’thanna will be waiting—and wanting a full report when we arrive.” He turned to his second-in-command, saying over his shoulder, “Thuma, make sure the men are ready to march. The quicker we get there, the better.”

  Thornton finished scratching Matilda behind the ears. Looking at Yasha, he asked, “Have you ridden before?”

  The red-haired Khyth nodded. “Every apprentice is taught to ride from a young age; General Tennech insisted.”

  “Then I’ll help you up.”

  Thornto
n reached out his hand to his sister, laughing to himself when he thought about it: she was the one who had first told him about his heritage. Now, he was going to be the one telling her about hers, and the fact that they were brother and sister. She had been kind enough to break it to him gently; the least he could do for her was the same.

  Yasha took his hand and placed a foot in the stirrup of Matty’s saddle, letting her robes ride up to her knees as she draped her legs on either side. Thornton could tell right away that she was a seasoned rider: she looked almost as comfortable in the saddle as on her feet. He looked ahead, where the bulk of the Athrani Legion were finishing their preparations.

  The metallic clatter of swords and chainmail filled the forest as the army gathered up the last of the war-fighting supplies to fall into formation and begin the march home. Endar, seated atop his war horse, raised his sword to signify the beginning of the march, piercing the air with a booming shout that set thousands of armored feet into coordinated motion.

  “To Ellenos!” the big man shouted.

  With a glance up to Yasha, Thornton said, “I guess that’s our cue.”

  She looked a little stunned by the commotion, but nodded despite it all. A tap of her heels on Matty’s sides spurred her onward, in line behind the might of the legion. Thornton walked beside her, missing his own horse, Jericho, who was stabled safely back in Annoch. Probably feasting on oats and carrots, he thought with a smile. Though he wasn’t fond of riding, he realized that this was the first time he’d ever been away from the sturdy old workhorse. His smile waned and his shoulders sagged a bit at the notion. Just one more thing to miss, he thought.

  Kethras walked on the other side of Yasha—the Kienari’s own long legs doing a better job of carrying him than any horse ever could—and seemed to be saying a silent goodbye to his forest as they left.

  There will be a right time to ask him about everything, Thornton reasoned. He hoped he would know just when it was. He was so consumed with this hope that, as they rode away, he barely felt the hammer as it pulled on him again.