Someone compared me to a necromancer. How wrong they are. I don’t need to torment souls to give directives to my creations. I give life to where there has been nothing before.

- Aqueel, the Inventor. Dated 57 b.f.

Amush was a tall, lean man wearing short braids that hung down to his ears. Almost a dozen people sparred on the patio, most of them younger than Silas. A six-foot-tall wall was built around it, with one stone door near the back of the patio. Two people fought in the fenced-off duelling ring.

The girl wielded two streams of sand that stabbed and circled the boy, who fought with a shield and spear. Amush observed the fight with a frown, his arms crossed over his chest. The boy was on the retreat, trying to stop the first thin stream of sand from worming its way around his shield. With a flick of the girl’s wrist, the other wrapped itself around his ankle and tripped him.

The boy fell on his back. “Not fair, Layla!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t swing your leg out like a dancer, then.” Layla kicked one leg outwards in a mock imitation of the boy frowning up at her. Letting the sand fall to the ground, she smiled as she held out a hand to pull the boy back up.

“Well done you two, but no reason to aggravate Janshu, Layla,” Amush admonished her.

Layla waved her hand at him. “Sure.”

Amush was about to respond before Nurana approached him.

“I suppose you are Amush?”

“I suppose I am,” the man said as he turned to face them. He had a weathered face, and upon close inspection, Silas saw that he heavily favoured his right leg. He might have been a fighter once, but with such an imbalance, Silas doubted he’d be a challenge for any experienced Artist. “And who might you be?”

“Creak!” Gnarly poked his head out of Silas’ chest, staring up defiantly at the tall man.

“We’re new to the Shelter,” Silas began. “Aiza assigned us to help you train the recruits.”

“Train the recruits? These lot are no more than children pretending to be soldiers, ‘cept a few of them. And what makes you think you are good enough to train them?”

Zaya took a step forward, a grin on her face. “I can show you, tough man.” She moved into the ring, inviting Amush in. “Or scared to fight little girl?”

Amush chuckled and followed her into the ring. “For someone so small, you have a pretty large mouth, you know that?”

Zaya stomped one foot on the ground and a sheet of rock encased her fists. “Be because you have ears so big you can fly away.”

Silas leaned over to Nurana. “This is going to be fun.”

A small smile crept on Nurana’s face. “I believe so.”

Seeing Amush enter the ring, the children stopped their sparring and gathered around, speaking in hushed whispers.

The two circled each other for a few heartbeats before Zaya threw a few lazy rocks at him to see how he’d react. Amush dodged them with a twist of his hips. His long quarterstaff flowed from one strike to the next, always keeping Zaya at a distance while he used three streams of sand to circle around her and catch her off balance.

Silas knew right from the beginning that Zaya was the stronger Artist of the two. He estimated Amush to be a peak User. He lacked the raw power that Zaya had as a Wielder, but made up for it in finesse and precision. Each of his attacks was executed nearly perfectly, barely leaving any space for Zaya to take advantage of. However, when Zaya began to trip him by causing a rupture in the ground beneath him, his stance changed. Some of the sand around him transformed into near translucent shards of glass, eliciting a round of ‘oohs’ from the crowd.

Suddenly finding herself on the defensive, Zaya created a shield of stone she hovered behind as the cloud of glass shards shot at her. The glass shattered, and Zaya struck her palm against the shield to launch it forward, catching him in his bad leg. He stumbled, using one arm to not fall on his face. Zaya was already above him, two rotating spikes of stone hovering beside her.

“Be much good fighter. If not for leg, not sure I can beat you. Respect,” she nodded at him and held out one hand.

Amush laughed as he pulled himself up, almost causing Zaya to fall. “Ha! Everyone, listen up! She here,” he glanced at Zaya, waiting. “Zaya,” she answered the unspoken question. “Zaya here,” Amush continued, “will help me in training you all. I expect you to listen to her advice, you might actually learn something. Now back to your training, the show is over.” The crowd slowly dispersed, many of them looking at Zaya with newfound respect.

“How you change sand like that?” she asked. “Want to learn.”

“I only have an affinity for Sand, but if you know what you’re doing, you can change it into Glass. Took me a few years to figure it out, though. If I were a Wielder, I might be able to create glass without sand, but I never got the Affinity for glass.

“Think you can teach me?”

“You don’t seem to be as daft as most kids your age, so I don’t see why not? But I have to warn you, it’s very easy to hurt yourself with glass. One wrong move, and you’ll bleed out like a salamander caught in a pit trap.”

Zaya nodded, her eyes wandered towards his leg where the prosthetic foot was now clearly visible. “Yes, pit traps can be much dangerous, it seems.”

Amush let out a throaty laugh, clapping Zaya on the back. “I like you. What about your friends?”

“Little boy be alright with spear and bow. Nurana is healer, not fight.”

“My name is Silas,” he glared at Zaya.

Amush nodded. “Boy, you’re up against Layla. See if you’re as good as your friend here. Nurana, there are some bruises you can see to if you want, but I don’t think you’re needed at the moment. You’re welcome to spar, of course.”

“Thanks, but I’m not a fighter,” Nurana declined his offer. “I wouldn’t want to fight against anyone much younger than me, anyway.”

“It’s true that many here in the Shelter are younger than most, but with everything going on, I think it’s best to start earlier rather than late.” Amush’s eyes zoned in on a young boy practicing his spear forms. “Start turning your hip when thrusting with your spear, Emro, and you might stop tripping over your feet when trying to dance!” The boy started blushing furiously but continued his practice.

Nurana watched Silas spar with Layla. She was a bit taller than Zaya, with short, black hair that barely touched her protruding ears. Silas wasn’t using his Art, but he still dodged every one of Layla’s attacks. “You think they will need the training?” Nurana asked Amush.

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“By the Matriarch, I hope not. All I know is that the people up there don’t like us educating the people of what’s to come, and some of them are afraid we’ll rebel against them.”

Silas dodged under a trail of sand, bisecting it with a slash of his staff and lightly knocked Layla on her head.

“What is to come, then?”

Amush turned his head to look at Nurana. “You’re new here, so you don’t know yet. The Matriarch has returned,” he stated. Amush stopped for a moment to let the words sink in. Take a look up here.” He pointed at the palace looming over them. Its walls were shining in a pristine white, its tinted windows reflecting the desert sun in a myriad of colors.

“They sit there, in their mansions and palaces, throwing food away we couldn’t afford even if we worked our whole lives for it. They let their feet be massaged by people who hardly have enough to eat, let alone feed their families. They don’t know what it means to hunger, to starve. Have you ever suffered hunger, Nurana? True hunger? Then you will know what it’s like.

Soon enough, their wealth will crumble like these mansions they like to hide in. Yet they cannot hide before the Matriarch’s wrath. Nobody can, Nurana. Remember that. When she sweeps across these lands, she will leave nothing but ash in her wake. All we can do is seek shelter in her shadow and spread the word of her coming.”

Nurana stared at the palace above them as she contemplated her next words. “I apologize if I come across as ignorant, but what makes you so sure? A year ago, no one spoke of the Matriarch except in bedtime stories and histories so long past they might as well be myths.”

Amush smiled. “Never apologize for asking questions. I was just like you, once. Eventually, you too will come to witness her might. Just beware that when you do, subservience will be the only way to survive. Before the Matriarch, all will bow.”

The spar ended with Layla lying on the sand, staring up at Silas in confusion. “How do you move so fast? You didn’t use any Arts and I could barely get near you! What’s your secret?”

Silas smiled, pulling her back up with one arm. “I had a good teacher.”

“You’re pretty agile with the spear, boy,” Amush commented. “Interesting fighting style, as well. Don’t think I’ve seen that before.”

“Thank you. You did a good job training Layla, though. She’s got talent.”

“Here I am, getting compliments from the students for my teaching methods.” Amush shook his head with a small smile. “Either way, you’re done for today. You can head to sleep, or do whatever young folks these days do, what do I know.” He waved them off.

Zaya frowned. “No practicing with Sand and Glass?”

Amush turned around again. “You want to start today?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll leave you two to the training,” Nurana said. “I need a rest, it’s been a long day.”

“Me too,” Silas agreed. “Don’t hurt him too much, Zaya.”

Amush squinted his eyes. “Someone really should teach you kids some manners.”

Nurana stopped on her way back into the building. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Silas followed her, shooting her an irritated glance. “You’re not that much older than us, you know.”

“Yes, but it’s too much fun rubbing it in.”

The sleeping room was on the second floor of the Shelter, a large area with six double bunk beds, each one separated by a deep-blue curtain.

Nurana sat on one of the empty beds and took out the book she had taken from Al-Talash. Its black leather cover seemed to suck up the light from the room.

Silas gave her a wary glance. “If I wake up tomorrow with a bunch of undead spirits in the room, I know who’s to blame.”

Nurana gave him a scathing glare. “Not funny, Silas. I’m a healer, not a necromancer.”

“Creak,” Gnarly consoled her.

Silas let himself sink into the sheets. Gnarly slept on the right side of the pillow, eyes closed. Ever since the fight with the Sphinx, Gnarly’s presence had faded to a dull simmer. Energy kept fading through the cracks of his Landscape. Without help, Gnarly was unlikely to ever return to full strength.

***

Everyone in the Shelter ate breakfast together. Perhaps two dozen people, most of them children, sat on two benches on each side of a long table, eating and chatting together as they enjoyed the food. It was nothing special, but Silas saw how eager the children were to sink their teeth into the fresh, warm bread coming from the huge oven in the back. Many of them wore clothing that looked to have been passed on for more than one generation, frayed on the edges, sometimes with more holes than cloth.

The older children helped with the baking and kept an eye on those who tried to snatch food from their neighbors. Amush walked over to Silas, a piece of bread in his hand. “I won’t need you here today, so head to the hall and look for someone called Galmor. Old man, talks a lot, should have bought a cane a decade ago but refuses to out of pure stubbornness. I’m sure there will be something you can help him with.”

“Know him,” Zaya replied between bites. “Much kind man.”

Amush nodded. “That he is.”

After cleaning the dishes with sand from a nearby barrel, everyone left the dining area and walked through the long hallway of the Shelter into a room filled with small tables and a desk at the front.

Nurana and Zaya took a table together, so Silas sat down on the one next to them.

“Care for another spar later on?” Layla slumped into the chair to his left. A small, light-red salamander sat on her right shoulder and regarded him with curious eyes.

“I’d like to, but I think we need to go to the hall to help Galmor.” Silas smiled at the tiny salamander. “Is that your bound companion?”

Layla smiled. “Yes! His name is Rasah. Isn’t he adorable?”

The Salamander’s tongue darted out, tasting the air.

“Creak.” Gnarly climbed out of Silas’ robe and pointed at the small lizard, the creature slithering around Layla’s neck to look at Gnarly from behind her dark hair.

Layla’s mouth fell open. “What kind of creature is that? I’ve never seen anything like it.” Layla leaned forward. “Can I touch him?”

“Creak,” Gnarly nodded, holding out one arm outstretched with the fingers hanging down.

“Fascinating. What’s his name?” Layla asked as she traced the bark on Gnarly’s fingers.

“Gnarly,” Silas answered for him.

“Well, now we have to spar, only so Rasah can play with Gnarly,” Layla declared with a smile. “In the evening, perhaps? I can hardly let you get away with that easy win from yesterday.”

Now that Silas looked at Layla from up close, he saw that the left side of her head was covered almost entirely in badly healed scar tissue. The stretched skin almost appeared as if there was intention behind it, but Silas quickly discarded the idea. Nobody would willingly scar themselves like that.

Layla caught him looking and flicked her hair to the side, hiding the scars.

Silas averted his eyes, suddenly ashamed for staring. “I don’t know when we’ll be back, but I’m always up for a spar.”

“In the evening, then.” Layla nodded tersely. “Oh, and greet Ashnur from me, will you? Ever since he’s taken to work for his mother in the hall, he doesn’t swing by here anymore as often as he should.”

“Sure.” Returning his attention to the front, Silas noticed Zaya giving him a weird glance, but she turned away before he could say anything.

A tall woman entered the room and the children immediately became silent. She wore her hair in a tight no-nonsense bun, and her well-fitting grey robe completed the picture. “Good morning, children.”

“Good morning, teacher Sheeva,” the children replied in unison.

Sheeva nodded, slowly pacing from left to right as she began. “We all know that the Originals were a group of ten extremely powerful individuals blessed by no other than the Matriarch herself.” She paused shortly to let her words sink in. “But do you also know what happened when we revolted against the Originals and turned away from the Matriarch?”

A short silence filled the classroom. Silas glanced at Layla. She leaned over to him, whispering, “It’s more or less the same nonsense every day, but they force us to sit in the class anyway.”

“We got weaker,” someone sitting near the front said.

Sheeva smiled. “Correct, Hanzor. Over the course of the centuries, our Drakhonian bloodline thinned, until barely a remnant of Her blessing remained. That’s why we have these,” she said, tipping at the brown scales covering the back of her right hand.

“These days, our bloodline lies dormant, waiting to be awakened once more. When the Originals were murdered, the Matriarch left our people. Now that She has returned, it is our duty as Drakhonians to herald her return and warn the world about her wrath. For it is only through obedience that her mercy may be earned.”

Thinking back on when Silas had seen the Matriarch and her dragons ravage the ruins of Al-Talash, he couldn’t think what something that powerful could want from someone who would have trouble climbing up her foot. Silas didn’t want to think about what would happen if she unleashed her power on Ceraviehl. Sheeva’s voice droned over him, but Silas zoned out. He had already read a bit about Drakhonian history in Tom’s booklet, and according to him, the Originals had been cruel, savage rulers, more beasts than humans. The Matriarch’s gifts seemed to come at a price.

“With that, our lesson is done for today. Sheeva let her gaze roam over the children before speaking.

“Before the Matriarch,” she began, and Silas began to wonder why she had stopped mid-sentence when the class answered not a heartbeat later.

“All will bow.”

“Before the Matriarch,” Sheeva repeated.

“All will bow,” they answered, louder this time.

Sheeva raised her voice. “Before the Matriarch!”

“All will bow!” the class repeated, almost shouting.

Silas was glad the class was over. He too had repeated the phrase to not stand out, but if the other children did this every day, he had no doubt they believed every word Sheeva fed to them.