-The Stranger-
Reign had never seen such mysterious, commanding Orenda. The fake lineal had been nothing special when tested with weaponry, but his Orenda had shocked Reign. That blasted ruby power had devoured his own Orenda like the sea absorbing the falling rain.
That strange suit of armor, so unlike anything Reign had ever encountered. An armor that encompassed even Thorne’s head, and the three ruby thrones…. His Orenda had been nothing. He had been nothing before such an outpouring of power.
As raisling, he knew more about Orenda than the Forlorn he instructed, enough to know that Drew Thorne was no average man. He could have easily overwhelmed Reign, but Drew had done nothing more than defend against his determined attacks.
In fact, Drew had been hesitant to command his Orenda at first, which stunned Reign almost as much as the ruby flood of power that had followed.
Even Callan Shadows didn’t have Orenda as profound as this stranger, and he was the most powerful wielder of Orenda Reign had encountered since taking over the position of raisling several years before.
Reign was the youngest person to become leader of the academy, and although his talent merited the title, the circumstances leading up to the advancement had left some part of him crippled. The prior raisling had treated him like a son, teaching and instructing with such insight and kindness that Reign felt like someone powerful, someone who could change the world of Ealias.
But she was dead now, and his only memory of her had run away like a half-forgotten dream.
But Reign still remembered it all vividly, even if he couldn’t catch the past in his hands, hold it, save it.
He stood in his private quarters, arms crossed behind his back. Fall was encroaching on Deporta faster than usual, pelting the proud stone architecture of the academy with cold rain and lost leaves, stolen by the wind. He could hear the gentle pattering now, drops cascading down the paned windows of his large room. Rain brought back sour memories. Frowning, he began to pace the length of the room, his thoughts on the upcoming ceremony.
Ryn Ashten seemed to be under the impression that preparing a lineal ceremony was a tasking endeavor for him. And that was true, but not for the reasons she supposed.
Three others placed before him, reminding Reign once again of the three ruby thrones. Haunting him.
He was just turning to pace the other length of the room when one of the doors opened to his quarters. He knew who it would be without glancing over—only one person entered his rooms without knocking first and stating their identity and need.
“This is the third lineal we have prepared for in five short months,” the man said mildly.
Reign turned to face the arrival then, keeping his balled fists hidden beneath his shadow cloak.
“Mastyr,” Reign acknowledged the man, bowing his head differentially. Even his anger at being overlooked for the position of lineal again paled in comparison to his great respect for the mastyr of Ealias. None knew of his existence but the current Forlorn raisling and lineal.
Reign had never seen the mastyr’s face. He remained cloaked and hooded, only his hands and the glint of his topaz eyes visible. Even though the man had never used his Orenda in front of Reign, the raisling could sense the power fountaining within him, like a hot spring ready to go on bubbling forever.
The mastyr would truly prepare Drew Thorne for the lineal ceremony. Reign was the face of the preparation to keep the mastyr’s identity and existence a secret, but even Reign did not know what the mastyr would do to prepare the new lineal for the coronation.
“Has the new lineal arrived?” the mastyr asked.
“Yes.”
“And you verified his skill in either weaponry or Orenda?”
“Of course.”
“And which did he favor?” the mastyr asked, seemingly curious.
“Orenda.”
“Describe this Orenda. What made it stand out to you?”
Reign squirmed uncomfortably. He was capable of masking his true thoughts and emotions with almost everyone else, but the mastyr was impossible to deceive.
“His Orenda reminded me of the ancients,” Reign admitted. “Instead of using his power as a club and beating me over the head, like Shadows, Thorne did nothing but defend.
“And his defensive Orenda not only effortlessly blocked my every attempt to penetrate it, it devoured my power and transferred the energy to Thorne.”
The mastyr looked at Reign with interest. “And?”
“And then when the fight was clearly decided in his favor, he just, he let the Orenda go. And instead of it dissipating into nothing it became an elaborate throne room of some kind and Thorne was sheathed in armor I’ve never seen before…”
Recounting the experience to the mastyr only cemented in Reign’s mind that it had been real.
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“Interesting. It sounds like Drew Thorne and I will have much to talk about. Please invite him in, Reign.”
Reign nodded and went through a door on the opposite side of the room from the mastyr’s entrance. It only took a minute or two to fetch Thorne, who was sitting in a waiting room, looking out the rain-stained window and fiddling with something in his hand.
As soon as Reign entered, Thorne stood.
“He is ready to see you,” Reign said simply, too exhausted by the events of the day to feel angry any more.
***
Drew fingered the gift Gracelin had given him as the raisling led him down dark wooden halls to the man’s own personal chambers. He’d opened it the night before, confused and intrigued by the contents of the package—a worn compass made from silvery wood and inlaid with beautiful green stone. It didn’t point north, although it clearly pointed at something specific.
The upcoming meeting had been kept as cryptic as possible. Drew didn’t know who he was meeting, or why. He’d been under the impression that the raisling alone would be preparing him for the lineal ceremony, and maybe that was what Ryn Ashten had thought too. She certainly hadn’t mentioned a mysterious third party assisting in the preparations.
The raisling seemed like a man who would boast of high connections if he had them, so Drew wasn’t sure who to expect. Maybe Rew’s ally. But why would the man risk making himself known to the academy’s raisling?
Reign opened the dark, polished wood door and an ageless voice called out, “Enter, Drew Thorne.”
He pocketed the compass in the folds of his cloak and poured every ounce of concentration into looking like someone who belonged in the room. Like someone who could serve as the new Forlorn lineal. Reign’s quarters were filled with the same dark, auburn wood in the hallway, and one entire wall was little more than thick paned windows. Spotless white furniture accented the space, and an ornate wooden bookcase was filled to the brim with rich, leather-bound books.
The door closed behind him, and it was only Drew and the stranger. He wore the darkest shadow cloak Drew had ever seen—the only visible aspects of the man were his gleaming topaz eyes and his hands.
“Drew Thorne, I expected our paths would cross one day,” the man said.
“I would say the same, but I’m at a disadvantage. I don’t know who I have the pleasure of addressing.”
“I go by many names, but the one I’ve always preferred is Helm.”
Drew couldn’t see the man’s face, but he swore Helm was smiling, as though sharing a secret Drew was incapable of puzzling through. Drew crossed the dark wood floor to the crackling fireplace nestled comfortable beside the bookshelf and warmed his hands.
“And your surname?” Drew found himself asking.
“I appreciate your curiosity. Honestly, I expected nothing less from you. My name is Helm Forlorn.”
“Forlorn?” Drew echoed, the implications reverberating around him like a gong. The consistent, comforting patter of the rain had only increased, like he and Helm were in the eye of a storm, patiently watching the world shift and grow around them. He could see the drops plunging down the thick panes from the corner of his eye, could almost smell the warm, humid drops of rain.
“The Forlorn were founded by someone, many centuries ago. I am a mere relation.”
“Founded by who?”
“A man named Obcise. As handsome as he was determined to rule. When he found an opportunity to wrest control from the Abysmals, he took it, founding a powerful group of warriors called the Forlorn.”
“And were the Forlorn always as they are now?” Normally Drew would never have been so bold, but he trusted Helm. He seemed like a kindred spirit.
“And how are they now?” Helm was clearly entertained by Drew’s question and seemed to know exactly what Drew had been hinting at.
“Corrupt. Falling apart. Obsessed with war. Only three cities remain of dozens, and Whisten and Ananth are little more than towns, barely struggling to get by as the Ruins surround them on every side. The Forlorn have done nothing but corrupt the beauty and purity of Ealias.”
“Strong opinions, but all well-founded. You see farther than your predecessor, Callan Shadows. A good man, loyal to a fault. As intelligent as they come, but sometimes blinded by his eager quest for knowledge.
“Reign mentioned your great skill with Orenda but that you did not fight back. Why?” Those topaz eyes were looking at Drew so intently it felt like they were looking through him to someone else, someone more qualified to be having this conversation.
“My uncle has been trying to teach me how to use Orenda properly for years. But the sensations that he associates with proper Orenda use I’ve never felt, never understood. The power inside me doesn’t feel hungry, eager to fight. Honestly, it feels more like a river. Powerful, focused, and controlled by its own aims. Like the Orenda seeks shelter in me but is not part of me… I know it doesn’t make any sense.”
“I understand, Drew.” And Drew felt deep within his bones that Helm understood far more than Drew himself did.
“I also understand that you do not come to be anointed lineal willingly.”
“How—”
“No one has informed me. But I can read your hesitance in how you hold yourself, the look in your eyes, by hearing about your interactions with Reign in the courtyard. For a Forlorn, becoming lineal is the pinnacle of academy training, a coveted position. Although our first candidate five months ago was unwilling, she would have made for a powerful, much-needed change in leadership. Callan was, as you can expect, eager and almost over prepared. Even Reign, who is impressed by almost nothing, was secretly proud, and terribly jealous, of Callan’s preparations.
“And then we come to you. An outsider, trained in Orenda by a rebellious Forlorn.”
Helm must have seen the retort rising within Drew, because he added, unperturbed, “Acelin was Forlorn, Drew. Surely you must see that. How else could he prepare you to become the next lineal if the Forlorn ever had an interruption in leadership? Rew is nothing but an offshoot of the Forlorn, similar in many ways, including their distrust of the unknown and unexplained.
“But Acelin’s past origins are not why I’m here.”
“And why are you here? And how do you know everything? The origins of the Forlorn thousands of years ago, the current state of the Forlorn people…”
“I have lived slightly longer than most, and seen things other would deem as nothing more than unspeakable nightmares.
“I know you fear leadership, Drew. Fear your Orenda even as you admire it. Fear yourself, and the glimpses you’ve seen of something beyond you. Like the three thrones.”
Suddenly, Helm dropped his cloak to the polished wood floor. The man looking back at Drew was ageless. Dark, wavy hair. Marble skin. A face that was half tragedy, half masterpiece, every feature chiseled. And painfully familiar.
“This is not the first throne you will take,” Helm said, gesturing out at the academy courtyard below through the wet panes of glass.
“When the time comes, you will have no choice but to live up to your name.”
Drew blinked, and the godlike man was gone, the only thing left to assure him it hadn’t all been a dream a shadow cloak as black as night left on the floor.