Awakening Arte (The Eldest Throne Book 1) Page 12

  A sigh escaped as he looked skyward. The Eldest Throne slumbered on the horizon, a gigantic pillar crowded with reddish cracks and crowned by its ever-present halos. It was his only companion as he sat alone in the night to face the worries haunting him.

  Roun had completed his personal mission by slaying the hoard aspirant and stirring awake his arte, but grim contemplation replaced the joy he had expected.

  Things were clicking into place. My arte allows me to feed on wraiths and chimeras. He paused and frowned as the foreign spirit shone within him. Feed in the literal sense; take another’s strength, digest it, and make it my own.

  His arte was truly awake now, its instincts thrumming within his mind. It had always been there—waiting for the right moment, just like the librarians had suggested.

  Roun removed his outer robes before positioning himself on the boulder cross-legged. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing; he could sense the lantern and the night, felt the chilled air, the sweat clinging to him, and all the aches his partial immortality seemed incapable of subduing.

  Élan stirred together with the viscous nothingness that was supposed to be home to his own burning spirit. It still seemed to be missing, but the hoard aspirant’s spirit was drifting through his vessel now, raw and vulnerable.

  His arte filled him with instinctual understanding as he examined the spirit.

  The orb was a lump—of wood, or stone, or clay, fire, sea, sky, tears, blood. A piece of Creation itself, but not one without constraints. Roun’s arte read those limits and through them defined all that the hoard aspirant had been; the spirit was as much a schematic as it was a precious ingot.

  Roun’s arte obediently waited for him to choose the augmentation he would receive after digesting the spirit.

  A few heartbeats passed before he understood what his arte was offering, then the sheer potential of it left him stunned. Roun exhaled and considered. The choices took an odd ‘shape’ within his mind; born not from the chimera’s artes and physique or his own, but the instances where they safely overlapped. That meant he could only see the results, which left an incomplete picture of the hoard aspirant’s full abilities, to his mild disappointment.

  Roun eventually made his choice.

  Thorny black tendrils snaked out from the walls of his vessel and wrapped around the chimera's spirit until it was barely visible. Script flowed across what little of its surface was visible; the scrawled glyphs were unfathomable to Roun and glowed violet instead of gold.

  The spirit became an unwilling part of him a heartbeat later. Roun rose from the boulder and glanced at his left arm. A thought forced the trapped spirit to respond to his will; it drank from his pool of élan and inky sludge gushed out again from his blackening veins. Strands twisted and shaped themselves around his limb.

  Five counts later, his hand and forearm were almost a replica of the hoard aspirant’s own pincers.

  Roun turned it over and found that it had the same odd leathery texture as his axe. The bulbous pincer ended below his elbow; when he willed it open, he found his regular hand inside.

  The chimera’s tentacles were there too, in a fleshy socket. Well, one was, to his mild disappointment, but he could control it as easily as his hands. A flick of his arm sent it shooting out a short distance. Strong, but not too dexterous. He manipulated it down to pick up his axe and recalled the tentacle. Roun shifted the weapon to his right hand and closed the bulbous pincer before chopping his axe down against it. Roun didn’t even feel pain as it repelled the edge.

  A grin spread across his face.

  His arte was unusual and honestly a little disturbing—and he still didn’t like the idea of consuming spirits—but using it had helped calm his worries; the arte was a tool and weapon, nothing more.

  Roun willed the augmentation away and watched it melt into dissipating sludge, leaving him with his mundane arm. It only sipped élan after the initial cost, but if wraiths and chimeras were the only way he could get more, then he needed to be mindful of his reserves.

  Roun shrugged back into his outer robes, tied the lantern to his sash, and hoisted the bloodhawk axe over his shoulder. The journey back to Rozaria City was uneventful and quiet. The gate captain was different this time, but the bulky man let him through without the slightest trouble. Dawn was still many hours away, so the streets were utterly empty.

  Roun licked his lips and hurried back to Avyleir Library.

  Zareus was waiting for him in his workshop, but for once wasn’t cutting at a random bit of chimera flesh. He sat in a worn armchair instead, hands folded over a book. The room was dark other than the glow from an élanic lantern hanging in the corner. It gave off just enough light to make out Zareus’s eyes as he waited for Roun to approach.

  “Did you run out of things to slice apart?” Roun jested without actual humor as he stood before the scribe.

  Zareus said nothing at first, then shook his head. “I was sleeping. Unlike you, I still need regular amounts of it.” He lifted the book and set it on a nearby table. “Reading helps me relax.”

  Roun blinked as he read the script across the thin tome’s spine. “Is that… a book of rhymes and children’s tales?” When Zareus gave him a heavy-lidded look, he raised his hands and added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  “They’re useful for when I tend children. I also find their unrealistic views of life pleasing.” Zareus waved a hand at the book. “No matter how dark the situation may seem, there is always hope. In every mistake, we find a worthwhile lesson. When all is lost, heroes awaken and none are left doubting that they will triumph. On and on. If only Fate were so considerate.” He glanced over at Roun. “Tonight, however, it seems that its strokes are indeed bright. Did you slay a hoard aspirant?”

  In response, Roun removed his outer robes, lifted his arm, and called forth his augmentation. The scribe watched with interest as his arm turned into an imitation of the chimera’s limb, but Roun noticed it didn’t mark his face with surprise. After a while Zareus shook his head.

  “You’re the Grimoire we were waiting for after all,” Zareus said.

  Roun dispelled the arte and frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Kuro and I knew your parents.” Zareus raised a hand in response to Roun’s widening eyes. “Please forgive me for asking you to wait a little longer, but it’s just until after today’s training. Librarian Exarch Kuro will personally speak with you.”

  “Do you at least know what happened to my father, then?” Roun pleaded, all thoughts about his arte forgotten. His mother had died when he was very young, but he still hoped his father had somehow survived his disappearance.

  Zareus shook his head. “The last time I spoke with him was many years ago. We were waiting for the both of you to come to Avyleir.” The scribe sighed and passed a hand across his face. “That you were living so near for so long, clanless and unnoticed, pains us more than you will ever know.”

  Roun hesitated. “My father told me to meet him in Rozaria City if we were ever separated, but he never mentioned Avyleir.”

  “I can’t think of any reason he wouldn’t tell you to come to us, but maybe Kuro can tell you.” Zareus paused. “What did he call himself?”

  “Yorin. That isn’t his real name?”

  “It’s the name he’ll no doubt use from now on if he’s still alive.” Zareus shrugged. “Well, you would have learned this from Kuro eventually, so I’ll tell you myself. The Imperial Cantons once tasked me with capturing you and your father, but, failing that, they ordered me to kill you both. Kuro and Yorin convinced me to abandon my mission, though it took a long night of debating with your father before I agreed. Afterward, my curiosity and the fact that I was already involved in Kuro’s scheme led me to follow him to Avyleir.”

  Roun stared at Zareus. “Who—what—are you?”

  “I’m a healer and a scribe now, but I once served the Canton of Glory as a justicar. Those days are long behind me, and even knowing that justica
rs exist is dangerous, so I ask that you leave it at that.” He hesitated for a moment, then continued. “I’m telling you all this out of compassion, but also so that you can see that your arrival at Avyleir was planned long ago by your own parents. Have faith in their decision and know that however unsettling your arte may be, we’re at least a little prepared to assist you with it. I’m afraid you still might not get all the answers you would like, but Exarch Kuro will tell you whatever else he can this evening.”

  The scribe offered nothing more and didn’t look like he intended to, so Roun allowed the cryptic words to fade unchallenged. Exhaustion and the onset of a headache followed, but he knew it wasn’t all from his encounter with the hoard aspirant.

  “Will showing the others my arte be a problem?” he asked, sensing the approach of a dismissal.

  “Not unless you believe so,” Zareus replied. “There aren’t many hours until dawn, so perhaps you should save any other questions for your exarch and instead get some rest?”

  Roun nodded, then made his way towards the dormitories. He was too tired to think of anything beyond his bed.

  15

  The Empress’s dawn arrived and faded to simple daylight over the hour. Everyone else rose from their cross-legged meditation glowing amber, and, in the distance, the Eldest Throne was a milky pillar of light that filled Roun with warmth and serenity as he stared at it.

  No élan made its way into his pool, and he still couldn’t see his own spirit. Neither of those was a surprise anymore; he was coming to accept that he might just need to feed on chimeras forever like some kind of animal. That wasn’t as bad as his larger problem, which was his inability to cultivate his spirit, making it denser and in turn strengthening him.

  The others had made startling progress in two months, however. Roun glanced over at Kamil and Laeshiro as they moved to their usual spot. Over half a dozen spider-constructs perched along Laeshiro’s head and shoulders now, and he no longer closed his eyes and scrunched his face to command them. Instead, Laeshiro guided them with the subtle movements of a puppeteer.

  Even Kamil had improved, and was able to conjure a fearsome legion of his orbs now. Both his control over them and the flames they produced also seemed to grow more intricate with every passing day.

  And Sethra… Roun grinned as she cheerfully approached him and stabbed the nearby pile of soil with her staff. A lazy sweep sent it flowing around her in a perfect circle, then she lowered the bō and formed a curved blade at the end. She examined its edge and nodded in satisfaction.

  “You’re getting pretty good with the guandao,” he said as he moved across from her with his own bloodhawk axe. “War hammer too. You’ve basically stopped using anything else.”

  She nodded. “My family’s bō style translates best to them, and it’s easier to practice with three similar weapons than throw in variants like a spear or heavy axe.” She appraised him thoughtfully. “Though it’s letting you get too used to how I fight.”

  “I’m definitely getting more out of this than you are,” he agreed with a snort. “But only because I spend way too much time thinking over why I lost and ways to deal with it. Today will be different, though.”

  “Oh? What’s so special about today?”

  “I’ve figured out my awakening arte!” he replied dramatically. He tried to keep the excitement out of his face, but knew he had failed.

  Sethra, on the other hand, practically hopped and spun a circle around him. “You’ve been getting stronger and stronger these past few months, so I knew it was only a matter of time! Come on, show it to me!”

  He obliged and removed his outer robes, then stretched out his left arm and called on the spirit trapped within him. Sticky black strands burst free from his veins and rejoined in the shape of the hoard aspirant’s pincer.

  By now everyone else, including Yhul, had already made their way over out of curiosity and were watching with interest.

  “What is that?” Sethra exclaimed in surprise. He had been watching her face a little anxiously, but she didn’t seem frightened or disgusted, and in fact snatched up his arm to get a better look. “Looks like a chimera’s limb?”

  Roun nodded. “My arte lets me… imitate them? I’m still working out the details with the help of Zareus and the librarians.” Less a lie than it was an omission of details, he supposed. He waved at her bō. “Spar with me?”

  She nodded and fell into stance. Roun took his own stance and waited. Sethra took the lead like always, though he always felt that it was less because of her having the advantage and more because that was how she was.

  She whirled her staff in a smooth overhead arc—a testing blow. Roun intended to show off, so he punished the attack by opening his pincer and catching the shaft neatly in it. The grip wasn’t all that great, but his hand worked fine, so he clasped it around the staff as well. When Sethra pulled back in surprise, he moved forward with the motion, jerking her trapped weapon out of the way and using his axe to cut a thin line across her throat.

  “Score?” he asked with a grin.

  Sometimes they trained with the same caution as when they were mortal, though Yhul disliked seeing them do it often. They couldn’t die easily and they needed to learn to ignore pain, but Sethra still tried to never hurt him more than she had to.

  Her eyes were still on his pincer arm, but they were wide with awe, and a grin passed across her own lips. “I’ll give you a free match,” she agreed in a cocky tone.

  Roun snorted and released her staff. The others were watching him, but their expressions were thoughtful or curious. Maybe I’m just thinking about it too much?

  They parted, took their stances, and Sethra struck first again. This time she didn’t test him and came at him with her arte. Roun was as familiar with it as he was with her bō, so he stood firm as soil swirled and followed her; pillars and walls were less useful while on the offense.

  Roun defended against her unmodified bō’s quick windmill and alternating strikes with his pincer. He held his axe close enough to also guard with it, but kept it ready for an opening.

  Trying to bait me? he pondered. He decided to spring the trap and opened his pincer to catch her staff like before. Sethra immediately caught some soil during a whirl, transitioning her bō into a guandao, and then stopped its rotation and stepped into a thrust.

  It was too obvious, even for her, but Roun turned his arm aside while clamping it shut. It didn’t quite close in time, but she came at the wrong angle and only left a small puncture in the softer flesh inside before bouncing downward. Roun lunged forward with his axe raised as she whirled her bō—and a hexagonal pillar sprang up.

  Roun careened into it while trying to take advantage of her opened guard. She was already spinning around the pillar, staff whipping through the air in a two-handed grip.

  His pincer-arm rose to guard, but he noticed too late that her guandao had become a war hammer.

  The head was a massive hexagon pillar careening towards him with all the enhanced strength she could muster. Roun was pretty confident in the defensive ability of his augmentation, but not that confident. He fumbled for an answer and took the first one that came to him.

  Roun flopped to the ground and opened his pincer as he fell. Air whooshed from his lungs as he hit the ground, the war hammer swept overhead, and then he flicked out his augmented arm—and shot out the tentacle within.

  It hooked around Sethra’s leg.

  “What—” she squeaked as she torn from her feet.

  Her disbelief was so acute that her war hammer and pillar both crumbled; some of the soil scattered across the ground while a little plumed in the air. Gasping, Roun sprang back onto his feet and launched his bloodhawk axe forward. The script rippled to life and kept it on trajectory—

  —only to miss Sethra by a hair as she twisted with admittedly typical agility for her. She slashed with her staff before the guandao-blade was even complete. The array of hexagons solidified just as it met his tentacle and cleaved into
the meaty appendage.

  Intense white-hot agony shuddered through him, but his mind failed to map the source, so the pain confused his brain and moved sporadically; the sensation was unpleasant enough to send another fierce shudder through him.

  It was also enough an opening for Sethra to kick her leg free with a surge of enhanced strength. She rolled back onto her own feet, but his axe had already ricocheted off the floor and was arcing on its way back to him. He couldn’t close his pincer with the tentacle out, so instead he met Sethra’s triumphant gaze and whipped the ichor-oozing tendril upward past her while ducking into a crouch.

  Her follow up lunge was full of overeagerness and some of her inexperience with an edged polearm. The guandao sliced through his bare shoulder as it snapped by.

  Further than the strike needed to reach.

  Roun’s tendril caught his axe and retreated into his pincer with a ripple of pain, but he ignored it and focused so he wouldn’t miss the haft or fumble his grip. He sprang from his crouch at an angle towards his left, shoving the guandao’s blade away with a toss of his shoulder, his body giving off a soft glow from the enhancements of élan. Sethra rotated her polearm, blade going up while the butt swung downward, to raise hexagons at her feet, hoping to slow or tripping him while she repositioned.

  Roun flanked over and beyond the rising pillars before lightly tapping his axe against the back of her knee after spinning with empowered speed.

  “Score,” he said, grinning.

  She was also grinning when she faced him. “That was pretty darn impressive,” she admitted.

  “Lucky, you mean?” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “I know I surprised you with the tentacle, yet you still bounced back almost immediately. That thing feels like an extra limb, so if you had wounded it enough, I wouldn’t have been able to use it until it finished healing.”

  “I still would have missed my thrust,” she countered with a laugh and thumped him on his good shoulder. “Just accept my praise!” She waggled her eyebrows at him. “Because not even your weird arm will spare you next time.”