Page 16 of Angel in Absentia
Clea waited, certain that if she waited long enough, he would share. His expression was focused, dark, honest. She expected the coming tale to match in every way.
“The Virads and the Ashanas were kingdoms of immense power whose altercations wrecked the very land they aimed to claim,”Myken began. “Shambelin, the last country with surviving Veilin, and its vast human cities, was the final resource to be won. As the Warlord drove them back, they reached an impasse. The Virads and Ashanas locked into a rare alliance that would have been a decisive end to the Insednians.” Myken’s voice maintained a cool cadence as if he were in a trance. The room felt darker and colder around them. “The Virad Lord was a Venennin of illness, the Ashanas Lord a Venennin of hunger. They were wielders and slaves of those powers.”
Clea had heard vague references to the Warlord’s battle with the other Warlords before the three, or supposedly, four, heroes were introduced. This retelling was not Loda’s history, but she had heard a version of it before. She had never heard the Venennin version of things.
“The Warlord of Shambelin captured the largest city, the city of Salanes. He then withdrew from the war, publicly surrendering Salanes to the Virads under the guise of a secret alliance. This enraged the Ashanas Lord, who marched on Salanes directly, so blinded by his own hunger, he could not imagine that the Virad Lord would do anything but claim the country in its entirety. He expected warfare. He came for that, not realizing that the Warlord of Shambelin had betrayed the Virad Lord, trapping her infected body in the city.”
Clea flipped through her knowledge of the fourth city of Salanes, the City of the Soul, as many called it.
“When the Ashanas Lord realized the trick, it was too late. He had been lured too deeply into his vice. He’d become a monster, eating and consuming everything in his path, tearing through Salanes and devouring the entire city, along with the Virad Lord, her illness, and her followers. The Virad Kingdom fell, and theAshanas Lord withdrew to the Wraithlands where the infection he had consumed then spread inside him, creating a kingdom of Venennin trapped by ceaseless hunger and illness. There, he wasted away, his followers now hosts of contagious hunger and illness, kept from Shambelin by the illusion of the forest, which marks off the Warlord’s territory. That is, until the Warlord disappeared.”
Clea waited in the silence of the dark tale. If what Myken said was true, the Warlord of Shambelin had used the city of Salanes as bait, tempting the Ashanas Lord to consume it, only to ingest the poison within.
“So, you see,” Myken said, “the Belgears and the Iscads were less ambitious kingdoms that simply wanted to survive, but the ancient ones…” He paused.
Clea imagined the war board upstairs, sitting alone in the council room with its small symbols representing kingdoms with centuries of history.
“The ancient kingdoms are not like us. The Virads are gone, having never recovered from the Warlord’s final blows. The Insednians care little for human life except to use it as a pawn. The Ashanas…they are cursed with hunger and illness. They eat and infect, two potent forces now blended into something horrific that has grown in the darkness of the Wraithlands. They hunger for Shambelin. The illness that infected your family is only the faintest hint of their power. Now, suggest again, who do we have to turn to for help?”
Clea didn’t respond and she didn’t look away. They watched each other carefully in the silence. Myken was indeed a persuasive trader because in a matter of minutes, he had made her feellike her city was running out of options and an alliance with the Belgearians was the only solution.
She felt the pressure and she pushed back on it, whispering, “You are an adept tradesman, Myken. That I grant you. The Ashanas have been dormant for ages. Not a single word or evidence of their existence. Those lands are covered in curses so dark, they’re unlivable, even to Venennin. It’s a wasteland of ice, they—” She stopped.
Her arms lowered by her sides.
She was back in King Kartheen’s castle again, standing there the moment that Ryson had destroyed her illness and opened up a chasm to another world of darkness and ice. It had been frigid and dead, eyes watching ominously through a veil Ryson had torn in breaking her free from her curse.
“The Decline,” she whispered to herself, resting a knuckle over her mouth thoughtfully.
“You understand?” Myken said, a lilt of eagerness in his voice, body straining forward from the chains as if he could see the revelation breaking through the wall of her defenses. “The Ashanas cast the illness upon your family, and many more strewn across the continent of Shambelin. They are the quiet cause of The Decline. Until you managed to break free from your illness, until the collapse of King Kartheen’s castle, until you broke whatever that object was you had with you. I don’t know what it all means, but I’m not the only one who has noticed the pattern. The entire continent is stirring. The Decline is over; the stalemate is over. The second and final half of the war has begun.”
Every new detail was more and more daunting, making Clea feel progressively more overwhelmed. She needed to step out and think. She’d been looking for answers, but these were so difficult to digest that her thoughts spun with them.
Not enough.The feeling was intolerable. She couldn’t listen anymore. As if he could feel her withdraw, he spoke faster. She moved to the door.
“You have your history, you have the four cities and the four heroes, but your history only speaks of what they set out to do! It is our history that reveals what they ultimately became!” he declared, and she stopped, looking over her shoulder.
“Open Helena Hart’s grave,” he pleaded. “You will find it empty. Don’t ignore my warnings,” he said, his eyes glowing ominously. “An alliance with the Belgears is your last hope. You don’t know what’s coming.”
She left the dungeon and closed the door to find Catagard standing outside.
Her heart pounded.
“What happened?” Catagard asked in an eager whisper.
Clea shed her cloak, fingers trembling with that same strange sensation that had been building in her body since her return to Loda. “He was sent to us on purpose, as a messenger from the Belgears.”
She looked over at Catagard, still struggling to process it all. “They’re…” She paused, considering the absurdity of the words she was about to share. “They’re asking for our help.”
Catagard studied her critically.
She crossed her arms and took a breath, walking a tight circle in the small space of the corridor, torch burning faintly down the tunnel beyond them. A faint echoing sound clipped through the tunnel, and there was silence again.
“I say we engage them,” she said, glancing back over at Catagard as she stopped walking. “Don’t believe them, but consider releasing him back to deliver a message. He isn’t an Insednian,” she explained and then provided Catagard with the details of her conversation, her mind actively trying to retrace it all.
“Then we engage,” Catagard said evenly. “I’ll speak with the council.”
He paused, watching her gather herself as she continued to pace thoughtfully.
