Page 5 of Angel in Absentia
CHAPTER 2
CAMPFIRES AND ISLANDS
HE COUNCIL FINISHED discussing the closed threat of the Iscads. They speculated about the current threat of the Belgears. Next, Catagard moved his attention to their final, and perhaps their most illusive and daunting, foes.
“We still haven’t seen any sign of the Virad Venennin to the west, or the Ashanas beyond the mountains to the south,” Catagard offered as the council sat in silence. In the nine months Clea was gone, still, there was nothing.
They had been looking for signs of life to the west and south, but ancient curses and devastated landscapes seemed to make those lands unlivable. The Virads and Ashanas were ancient kingdoms that had been banished from Shambelin during the Great War with the Warlord of Shambelin. While the Iscads ruled the reaping shades and the Belgears ran the Dark Markets, the older kingdoms were said to be arrested by ancient, powerful curses, just as Shambelin was cursed with its changing forests.
Virads were said to be host to a dangerous and highly infectious curse that would rot even Venennin flesh. It made them suspects of the illness that had plagued the Lodain royal family, but the evidence stopped there. There hadn’t been sightings of a Virad Venennin in decades, and Loda still relied heavily on rumor to fill in gaps of their existence.
The Ashanas to the south were said to be ruthless warmongers, consumed with a dark and cannibalistic hunger. The great mountains to the south carved the border of Shambelin, and none of the Ashanas had crossed it in years.
Clea’s hope was that both kingdoms had fallen ages ago on their own. Great power in the Venennin world often came with great cost, which made collapse the inevitable end of Venennin fate, especially after their lords were banished by the Warlord of Shambelin in the Great War.
But rumors were rich and powerful things, and the mysterious illness of her family, combined with their knowledge of the Ashanas’ legendary power, had her people convinced that one of those two kingdoms was behind The Decline that plagued them all.
Until they had certainty, however, in Clea’s mind, all that remained were the Belgears, what very well might be their final enemy. That, and perhaps one more.
Clea’s eyes noted the carving of the skeleton that represented the missing Virad Kingdom to the west, and then the carving of the dragon that represented the Ashanas to the south. Despite their absence, they were represented. Stranger was what kingdom, represented by the moon, was not on this map at all.
Superstition still demanded they be discussed only in secret or ignored altogether.
The Insednians.
They were the only recognized group of Venennin that had not established a formal kingdom, remaining fluid and transient within the borders of Shambelin.
There were more rumors about the Insednians than any other Venennin clan, but it seemed Loda as a people were intent to presume they’d been vanquished altogether. The people conjured rumors about Venennin kingdoms not in the room when there was one waiting patiently in the corner. Though, without the Warlord of Shambelin, it was a rather headless, aimless monster, and Clea could only hope that they were ignoring it in good sense.
More questions ensued, and then to Clea’s relief, the examination came to a close.
Everyone in the room stood, and like a veil, the rigor of formality lifted. She caught subtle smiles and nods through the gathering, rare shows of acknowledgment among a group of men and women who had been intent on grinding her into a powerful symbol over the last year and a half. The battlefield beyond the walls had been a crucible, but this very room had been a crucible of a different kind.
She wondered what more could be said after all of the debates, arguments, and secret, gentle exchanges over the last nine months of the campaign. Many of the Veilin here were in their late thirties, well-lived, and perhaps near the end of their lives for a Veilin, but many had survived this venture, and it had been a treacherous one. Maybe soon, well-lived for a Veilin would mean living out one’s fifties or sixties, earning the telltale signs of age. One day, she hoped, age could be enjoyed by them all.
“This conquest is symbolic,” Catagard said, scanning the room, “in that with each powerful step forward, we are beating back the effects and ideology of The Decline.”
Several in the room nodded in acknowledgment.
Catagard looked back at Clea. “You have done an exceptional job in service to the people of Loda and humanity as a whole. Years ago, we lost our queen, our final heir, and the health of our king staggered,” he continued evenly, though she knew the words held a powerful tide of emotion for them all. Public displays of emotion were often considered undignified, and Catagard was perhaps the most dignified of all.
He looked at Dae and Yvan, addressing them individually and praising their accomplishments before settling back on Clea. She was surprised that a single question wasn’t raised about Yvan’s Virdain heritage, and noted that Catagard might chastise her privately later.
“Clea Hart,” he said, “you returned to your city with a will, passion, and determination to grow that inspired those around you. Every day became a battle to you against an enemy we could not see. When word of Virday’s collapse reached us, you did not hesitate to rally the people into an expedition we likely would not have risked before.”
Clea swallowed, solemn in her memories of the days since her return. Since the first day, she’d fought forward with everything she’d had, desperate to regain some inkling of inner strength when she felt her journey had left her shattered. Such a shattering had given her the blank slate she’d needed to remake herself. She’d shattered and remade herself a hundred times since.
She had witnessed what lay far out in the woods, beings of immense power that had made her city’s strength and her own feel frighteningly unsure. Clea was convinced that anyone who had witnessed the same would have done the same; otherwise, the only other option would have been to wither into a huskof dread. She’d needed confirmation that she could survive this vast, unpredictable world.
“Many no longer waited for a rooster to signal morning. We’d hear your steps down to the training arena and knew you’d soon wake up the sun.”
Several people chuckled at this. Clea allowed a smile, disliking the exaggeration, but knew that Catagard was only further building her legend, her symbolism, her power.
“Many no longer slept under nightfall. They watched the candle of your study or in the library, and until its light was extinguished, we did not sleep.”
She’d torn through every book, every library, every published and unpublished manuscript she could get her hands on, legal and otherwise. People had witnessed her determination and seen it as a bizarre mixture of hope and madness, and had been both inspired and unnerved. Her critics had branded her with the claim of insanity, but others had followed suit to compete with her.
For Clea, it had been about survival. To even compare against the enemy she knew was out there, she needed to be a thousand times stronger than what she’d been.
