Read Ascendant's Rite (The Moontide Quartet) Online
Authors: David Hair
‘Or perhaps not,’ Ramita said.
Parvasi, Mother of All, be with me
.
Above, the crystal ceiling was ablaze, tendrils of power reaching blindly downwards. She shared one final look with Alaron, then with deliberate movements, lowered herself into the throne and raised her hands to the heavens.
The first of the energy threads touched her fingers, then blazed through her.
*
At first Ramita was alone in a wilderness of stars and forked lightning. All awareness of Alaron, of the room, the tower, her own body even, fell away, and she was caught in a mesh of light, trying to make sense of a thousand sensations at once. The powers were too intense, too much. She floundered, began to panic . . .
. . . and then there was a presence with her: Antonin Meiros, his patient face smiling encouragingly. It was another gnostic message, set here on the throne, but it felt so real she almost believed he was truly present.
.
She did as he said, reached out with a spiratus arm for the apex crystal, jolting as energy coursed through her again, but she shielded her core and began to knot the threads together, weaving gnosis-energy. It was more power than she’d ever handled, but its nature was the same, and she was no longer bewildered. In seconds, she found that her strength was sufficient to control the flow – something that had taken the enthroned Keeper and a dozen others to do.
As she pulled the threads into one rope they fused, and suddenly the play of energy became clear. Southpoint Tower was revealed as a pillar of light, joined to a larger web of energy. Three cords of light shot away from her, two going diagonally left and right – to Sunset and Sunrise Isles, she guessed. But the thickest poured the energy of Southpoint into Midpoint, the centre.
She placed her awareness within those three flows.
For a few seconds there was only the rush of movement, but then she was
elsewhere
, or her spiratus was, seeing other chambers and other thrones: two men and a woman standing at the other points of the compass – Sunset and Sunrise; Northpoint and Midpoint. All of their faces turned towards her at once, and they knew her in the same instant she knew them.
In Northpoint, Grandmaster Lens Nauvoine of the Inquisition, raised to the Ascendancy sixty years ago, once a giant warrior and now a bloated, toad-like figure in cavernous robes, snarled in startled fury at her.
At Sunset Isle, vulturine Lady Delfinne de Tressot, staunch ally of the Sacrecours, raised fifty years ago, turned her head with diamond-like eyes flashing.
And Raneulf Fasterius, Ascendant and grandfather of Mater-Imperia Lucia Sacrecour, saw her all the way from Sunrise Isle and set his jaw.
On the central throne, Ervyn Naxius spun, his face unmasked, already so ruined that the solarus could do little more, and laughed savagely. ‘Welcome to the end of your husband’s creation, Lady Ramita,’ he spat. He raised a hand, his power augmented by Nauvoine behind him in Northpoint; his gesture was mirrored by the others, then gnostic attacks blazed down the link towards her from three sides.
*
There were three principle goddesses in Omali theology and Ramita became each at once: in the same way that Alaron became a trance-mage, she found she could split her awareness and do several things at once. The concept that one being could encompass others had been inculcated into her from birth, and everything Puravai and Corinea had shown her at Mandira Khojana, how to reach and use all facets of the gnosis, combined with the core of who she was, an Omali Lakh, made this moment.
Sarisa-ji was Queen of Learning, associated with the Great River. Into her Ramita put her awareness of Water and Sorcery and faced the brutal flames that flowed along the direct link to Raneulf Fasterius at Sunrise Isle to the northeast.
Into Laksimi-ji, Goddess of Plenty, she poured her instincts for life and the physical, using hermetic-gnosis against the deathly power radiating towards her from Lady Delfinne on Sunset Isle.
But the greater part of her went into blocking the combined threats of Naxius, augmented by Grandmaster Nauvoine, that flowed the length of the Bridge aiming directly for her. She became, wholly in her heart, Parvasi-ji – but only for a moment, because she let the wilder spirit of Parvasi’s darker incarnation flood through her, becoming the warrior-woman Darikha-ji, wielding Fire and Earth and all her anger.
Initially all she could do was defend, and she couldn’t have survived without the raw power that Antonin Meiros had literally bred into her, or the hundreds of hours of training she had undergone. Even then, she felt like a candle in a rainstorm, flickering at the edge of extinction. Naxius’ grip on her mind was like the claws of a bird of prey, gripping her naked brain and digging in, seeking an edge as he delved into her mind. He pulled up images of Antonin Meiros, dying . . . Kazim, killing him . . . Justina, dying with her throat torn out . . . Nasatya, lost and crying . . .
Showing her Nasatya was a mistake.
I will see him again! And to do that, I must do
this
!
Her spiratus blazed in anger, and she swatted Naxius away as if he were nothing more than a fly. The energy flowing between her to these others suddenly was no longer a tether, but a
road
. With a growing sense of her own strength, she sent herself down those roads, fighting three at once.
Towards Sunrise Isle, pale-skinned Sarisa-ji, holding a sitar, floated on a lotus flower along the river of power towards the tall, haughty shape of Mater-Imperia’s grandfather. Raneulf Fasterius snapped out runic words as he threw his spells at her, using Fire thaumaturgy with the intensity to melt stone. But she countered with Water, dousing the fires that burst about her, and poured onwards.
Raneulf Fasterius was a cunning fighter, but Ramita was more than an Ascendant and she overwhelmed him like a wave over a sea wall. He shrieked in agony as something like a steam-bath erupted around him, boiling his flesh on the bone, and his consciousness left him.
She stepped inside his fading mind and the silver-masked Keepers in the chamber at Sunrise Isle saw the dead Keeper’s whole body change. The horribly burned corpse on the throne was engulfed by a loomy earthen fog, which cleared to reveal a woman in Lakh attire, crowned in flowers, with skin of the palest blue. She struck a note on a sitar that reverberated through their skulls, and they all collapsed.
Sarisa-ji turned her eyes to the other thrones, where her sisters still fought.
Midpoint Tower, Leviathan Bridge
Junesse (Akhira) 930
24
th
and last month of the Moontide
Emperor Constant Sacrecour stared at Ervyn Naxius through a glass wall a foot thick. The ancient mage was on the throne, his hands ablaze with power and his face lit with rage as he hurled abuse at some unseen figure.
‘What’s going on?’ Constant demanded. ‘Has Naxius gone mad?’
One of the silver-masked Keepers, an ancient woman with the foulest breath he’d ever had the misfortune to inhale, was mewling with concern. ‘Southpoint has been usurped,’ she lisped.
‘What? How—?’ He had no idea what that meant, but it sounded bad. ‘Who? Why—?’
‘I don’t know,’ the old woman snapped. She was a former nun of Kore, an abbess who’d ingratiated herself into Imperial favour and gained the gift of the Ascendancy a century ago. ‘Naxius contends with the intruder!’
This place no longer felt safe. ‘Is he winning?’
‘I don’t know! I don’t know anything!’
‘Then what damned use are you?’
She looked at him with a puzzled exasperation. ‘Use? I’m not here to be
useful
, boy, I’m here to bear witness to history. This is a great moment!’
Constant backed away. It didn’t feel like a great moment. He signalled to his guards. ‘Get me out of here.’
Southpoint Tower, Leviathan Bridge
Junesse (Akhira) 930
24
th
and last month of the Moontide
All Alaron could do was stare through the eyelets of his mask and pray. Ramita was deep in the link now and barely recognisable, not just because of the lurid colours swirling above her head, but for her own magical aura, which was blending with her body, turning her into a tall, regal being with multiple arms and deep blue skin. It was the aura shape she used when wielding the gnosis now, so it didn’t surprise him, but this version was disturbing. It had three heads, looking away to the northeast, north and northwest, and there was a controlled ferocity and escalating rage about her he’d never seen before.
Abruptly she raised her left hand, pointing savagely into the northwest, along a track of light that appeared stretching towards Sunset Isle. His senses were pulled along the link and he saw a woman hunched like a skeletal bird on a throne. She was bathed in purple light, her hands so translucent they looked like bone. But she was howling with dread, and Alaron suddenly saw why: there were tree roots writhing towards her, withering as they touched the purple fires she wielded, but getting closer and closer . . .
. . . then suddenly the woman wailed in despair and tried to pull herself from the link. She never got the chance: the thickest tree-root struck like a snake, plunging through her abdomen like a thrown spear and impaling her. As blood soaked her dress, she convulsed, then more roots burst from her mouth and bloomed into leaves and a black flower, and more sprouted from her eyes, and she was engulfed.
Then the nightmare figure changed again, becoming a beautiful Lakh woman who lifted her head and turned to face Midpoint with burning eyes.
Holy Hel . . .
He turned his eyes back to Ramita and cried out in fear for her—
—and of her.
There was no sign of the Ramita he loved now, just a figure streaming dark light. The throne had vanished; it was now a tiger the size of a horse, and the dark goddess was astride the beast as it roared and swiped with claws like daggers. He pressed himself against the wall, fearful of approaching, scared to look away. Ramita radiated heat as if she were made of burning coals; her robes were smouldering and falling apart, while the tiger seemed to be morphing with her, as if it was climbing into her soul. She became a dark giantess, giving voice to her anger.
His eyes followed the link to Midpoint Isle, where a cadaverous old man was seated, wreathed in energy. Behind him lurked another man, and after a moment Alaron understood instinctively that the second figure was far away in Northpoint, a bloated figure clutching the arms of his own throne, eyes bulging with stress. With a yowl like a great cat, Ramita hurled a spear of light that transfixed the fat man, pinned him to his throne. He deflated in a burst of blood that somehow splattered Ramita in Southpoint. She licked it from her face with relish.
The giantess roared in fury as Alaron’s energy wilted.
No – not when we came so far
—
! We can’t have failed!
Midpoint Tower, Leviathan Bridge
Junesse (Akhira) 930
24
th
and last month of the Moontide
Emperor Constant had just reached the doors when there was a great roar behind him. He turned in time to see Ervyn Naxius launch a blast of scarlet gnosis into the dome above him. The entire crystal dome went a deep red and the tower quivered, sending Constant and his guards to their knees. Naxius stood, facing south, with his eyes blazing triumphantly, shouting,
‘It is done! The Bridge’s energies are freed and directed. You’re too late, Lady Ramita! The Bridge will fall!’
Constant clutched at the arm of the nearest soldier. ‘Thank Kore for that! Now get me out of here!’
Naxius hobbled from the central chamber and came towards him. ‘I’ve taken all the energy I could, and disconnected the links. The energies are now channelled downwards at the remnants of the meteor, which is what this island is. She can’t reach us to prevent that; only someone here can control the flow. So we must depart, my Lord. We have five minutes.’
‘Then let’s go! Take me away this instant.’ He threw a glance back at Naxius, aware that some show of gratitude was warranted, but in truth the man was loathsome and he didn’t want to spend another moment in his company. Nevertheless, forms must be kept. ‘You will join us later this evening on the Royal Barge, Lord Naxius?’
The ancient mage bowed ironically. ‘An honour, my Emperor.’
Constant’s guards hurried him to the sloop hovering outside the tower. He glanced down and saw chaos below where soldiers in motley rags were milling, shouting with rage and fear. He waved down ironically, though he was probably too high to be seen.
A shame
. Then he was bundled safely onto the windcraft and they were rising and away as another came to collect Naxius and the others.
He looked skywards, exhaling in relief. The windfleet above circled or simply hovered, awaiting the great moment, and he wanted to be there, seated on his throne on the Royal Barge, when it happened. ‘Fly like the wind!’ he shouted to the pilot. ‘Like the storm itself!’