Journey of Fire and Night (The Endless War Book 1) Read online

  Journey of Fire and Night

  The Endless War

  D.K. Holmberg

  ASH Publishing

  Contents

  Copyright

  1. Jasn

  2. Ciara

  3. Jasn

  4. Jasn

  5. Jasn

  6. Ciara

  7. Ciara

  8. Jasn

  9. Jasn

  10. Jasn

  11. Ciara

  12. Ciara

  13. Ciara

  14. Jasn

  15. Jasn

  16. Ciara

  17. Ciara

  18. Jasn

  19. Jasn

  20. Ciara

  21. Ciara

  22. Ciara

  23. Jasn

  24. Jasn

  25. Jasn

  26. Ciara

  27. Jasn

  28. Ciara

  29. Jasn

  About the Author

  Also by D.K. Holmberg

  Copyright © 2016 by D.K. Holmberg

  Cover art by Rodrigo Toledo

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  1

  Jasn

  The Endless War began as so many had before. Confusion and deception drove a wedge between nations that should have partnered, predictably splintering any chance of diplomacy. Many were lost on both sides in the first wave, warriors of Ter and shin of Rens, lives wasted and nations weakened.

  —Lren Atunal, Cardinal of the College of Scholars

  Jasn Volth stood on the vast desert plain of Rens, dust swirling around him. Heat blasted him from all sides, painfully hot. In the year that he’d spent in this blasted land, he’d grown accustomed to the heat. It didn’t make it any easier to tolerate.

  A shadow circled overhead, the wide winged shape of the draasin taunting him. All he wanted was to kill the creatures and those who commanded them. That, or have the draasin kill him. Either would please him.

  “Volth!”

  Jasn glanced over to see the plain faced warrior approach him. Dressed in a thin robe too much like the Rens style, he decided the boy couldn’t be much over fifteen. Likely barely raised to the order, and served this deep in Rens? Someone like that wouldn’t survive more than a few weeks. Few warriors did; that was the reason he’d volunteered.

  “What are you doing out here?” Jasn demanded.

  The boy’s face paled. He barely could grow whiskers, nothing like the thick beard Jasn had let grow. Unlike his deep brown hair, the beard had reddish streaks through it, leaving others claiming it stained by the blood of those he’d killed.

  “A summons came for you,” the boy said. “I was told—”

  Jasn frowned, slamming his sword back into his sheath, looking up at the draasin as it disappeared from view longingly. The creature had killed two shapers before Jasn had attacked, and all he had managed was to send it flying away. Draasin were too fast for him to chase, too fast to truly hunt. Best to come across them by surprise, or be ready when they attacked.

  “What kind of summons?”

  The boy held out a folded sheet of parchment. A ball of wax sealed it closed. The quality of the page told him it came from Atenas, but why would he have been summoned back? Unlike most others in Rens, he came willingly. There was only one way he’d return.

  Jasn snatched the parchment from the boy’s hand. His eyes went to the seal and his frown deepened. “Who brought this?”

  “A messenger. She’s gone now.”

  Messenger. One of the easiest assignments given to the order. Travel into the front of the war and then back out, never risking more than a few moments. “Do you know why?” He stared at the seal, hesitating opening it.

  The boy’s eyes drifted to the parchment before coming back to Jasn’s face. “I don’t know…”

  Jasn turned away, slipping his thumb under the wax and pulling it open. He scanned the page, his heart beating faster the more he read, before crumpling it and igniting it with a shaping of fire.

  “Warrior Volth?”

  “I have to return.”

  “Return? You’re the Wrecker of Rens! What will we do if you leave?”

  Jasn narrowed his eyes as he glared at him. “You’ll fight. Likely you’ll die. Consider yourself lucky.”

  With that, he formed a shaping.

  He streaked across the sky, away from Rens, and landed at the outskirts of Atenas. He stared up at the massive tower that rose from the center of the city, and frowned.

  How long had it been since he’d been within the tower? Months. Long enough that he should have forgotten the agitated way he felt when he saw it and long enough that he shouldn’t feel the same surge of anger and sorrow intermingling. Long enough that he should have been dead.

  He sighed. He wouldn’t have returned if not for the summons. When the commander called you back, you answered, regardless of the fact that you didn’t give a damn about the Endless War and the reason they fought.

  Why here, though? Why would Lachen draw him back to Ter? The damn man could have simply called to him in Jornas, or anywhere else in Rens. At least then Jasn wouldn’t have to think about what he’d lost in Atenas and what he’d sacrificed by leaving.

  Thunder rumbled suddenly and lightning split the otherwise cloudless sky.

  Jasn prepared a shaping, drawing on earth and wind instinctively, trying to avoid using water. In the months that he’d fought within Rens, he had failed in that almost as much as anything. Water was the reason he still lived, the reason he still suffered.

  When his eyes cleared after the lightning flash, a thin, hardened man stood opposite him, considering him with a calculating gaze. His long cloak caught the wind and fluttered softly, revealing the curved sword he had sheathed at his waist. “It took you long enough to arrive.”

  Jasn tipped his head in a bow to the commander. “I came when I received it. And I answered. Isn’t that enough?”

  Lachen watched him a moment, his lips tightening into a thin line. “You still suffer.”

  Jasn grunted. “I’ve tried ending my suffering countless times.”

  “So I’ve heard.” The commander nodded and started building a shaping. “Come with me.”

  “Why?”

  “You would end your suffering?” Lachen asked, before disappearing on another burst of lightning, taking to the clouds.

  Jasn debated for a moment whether to follow him before finally deciding that he should. With the same shaping that Lachen had used, he leapt to the air, following the direction of the commander and trailing after him.

  He should not have been surprised when he landed.

  The wide grassy plains stretching away from the border of Ter and leading into Rens practically glowed with a shimmery heat, reminding him of deeper in Rens where there were only shifting dunes of sand. Jasn hated the way it looked and hated the way the sand blew across his face, spiraling into the air in little dangerous swirls, as if the land itself wanted to destroy him like it had already destroyed so much. How long had they fought with Rens over those lands? What was it that Lachen saw in them?

  With a shaping of wind, pulling from the north
and drawing cooler air with him, Jasn sent the dust spinning back into Rens. One step took him across dried grass that crunched beneath his boots, and he worked to keep the distaste from his face.

  “You call me to Atenas only to bring me back to Rens?”

  “I called you to Atenas to remind you.”

  “Of what?”

  Lachen looked over at him with a curious expression on his face. “Your duty, Jasn.”

  “What is it you want from me?” he asked. He didn’t bother to shield his eyes from the scorching sun. Doing so would not make a difference, not when the sun would burn through his lids and leave orange spots across his vision regardless. He’d long ago grown accustomed to the way the sun threatened to bake him.

  “Always so direct. That’s what I’ve always liked about you.”

  “Always? How long has it been, old friend?” Jasn asked. Long enough that the childhood friend who played with him in the mountains along the border of Ter, competing to see who could catch the lightning-quick rabbits that called those lands their home, had changed as much as Jasn. Once, there would have been quick laughter between them and a comfortable silence, but that had faded the moment they both started down the road to joining the Order of Warriors. And now Lachen led the order.

  “Given what’s happened to you, I would say too long.”

  Jasn grunted. A particularly strong gust of hot wind swirled up, pushing against his shaping. He resisted, forcing the cooler air of Ter against it, almost as if the elements of these lands warred nearly as much as the people within them. “I’ll be fine.”

  Lachen smiled, the hard lines earned over the years softening, giving a glimpse of the child Jasn had known. What had happened to Lachen in the time since he’d last seen him? Ten years was a long time, especially when learning shaping, and in those ten years, Lachen had changed so much that Jasn barely recognized him.

  “Fine? Is that what you want me to believe?”

  Jasn shrugged. “If you called me back to help me, there is no need. It’s better that I serve in Rens. I’m sure even the great commander has heard what I’ve done.”

  “I’ve heard how you wander alone in the waste, attacking Rens wildly, unconcerned about what might happen to you.”

  “I push the border to the south. Isn’t that what you want? Besides, I always return.”

  Lachen’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. I have heard that as well.”

  Jasn blinked. That was the one place where he failed. If only water would abandon him long enough that he would die, but it never did. Always he shaped himself, even when he tried not to.

  “Besides, from what I can tell, you need help.”

  “I’ve never needed your help,” Jasn said.

  “Is that how you remember it? I seem to recall it differently, like the time when you slipped into the canyon and I had to tie reeds together to pull you out. Had I not…” His face changed as he spoke of the incident, as if the part of Lachen that had changed the most in the past years faded, returning some of his humanity.

  “My father was angry anyway. Do you know he used those same reeds to switch me?” Jasn asked. The memory was still painful, the terror of that fall still vivid in his mind. Had Lachen not managed to pull him free, what would have happened? Days might have passed before any help came, and even then, it might not have come in time.

  Lachen shrugged, the moment passing for him, leaving him hard and unreadable. “A lesson we needed to learn.”

  “What lesson? My father punished me for failing, not for climbing too close to the ledge.”

  “Everyone fails, Jasn. It’s not the failing that matters. It’s whether you pick yourself up and move forward.”

  “Is that what you believe?”

  There was a fiery intensity within Lachen that hadn’t been there before, something that burned within him, creating a man strong enough to lead warriors, men and women able to shape the elements, to use that power to create wondrous creations that had once seemed impossible to believe. Now that Jasn stood among them, now that he’d learned enough to be named to the order, he should feel pride, or relief, or something. Instead, he felt emptiness. All he had done was fail.

  “That is what I know,” Lachen said.

  “What does that mean?”

  Lachen stared at him a moment before sighing. “It means that you are a warrior of the order. That is all that matters now.”

  Jasn started away from the border of Rens, not wanting to stare any longer into the desolation he saw there. He had seen these lands enough, and when Lachen was done with him, he would return. Perhaps he might even succeed in ending the war. Or dying. Either would be success for him.

  “Sometimes I wish I had never been tested,” Jasn said. Earth sensing told him that Lachen followed him, trailing only a few steps behind.

  “We were always meant to be tested. Had it not been Renis, it would have been another.”

  Jasn glanced over. “You think it some sort of destiny that we learn to shape?”

  “I think we would have manifested our ability regardless. But it doesn’t really matter what I believe, only what is. We cannot change the past, Jasn.”

  Jasn was silent as they passed a clump of trees. “Not the past. But we can avoid the future.”

  They walked a little farther. “Do you still have nightmares?” he asked, breaking the awkward silence between them. Once, there had been no awkwardness, but then, they had known each other almost as well as they had known themselves, spending every waking moment together to the point that their parents agreed they were nearly brothers.

  “Nightmares?” He knew what Lachen had meant, though not how Lachen had learned of them.

  Lachen tipped his head, staring at him with alien eyes that had seen so much more than Jasn could imagine. What had Lachen been through to make him so hard?

  “Fine, visions if you prefer. Whatever it was that brought you south.”

  Jasn blinked, clearing sand from his eyes. He might as well have been trying to clear the past from them. “I still think of her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  A momentary flash of relief crossed Lachen’s face but then was gone. “What would she have said about what you do? Would she have approved?”

  Jasn swallowed, pushing back the mixture of anger and sadness that bubbled to the surface every time he thought of Katya. And now Lachen forced him to speak of her. “Does it matter? She’s gone, lost to Rens like so much else in those damned lands.”

  Jasn stopped at a nearly dry streambed. This close to the border with Rens, not much flowed through here, leaving only a trickle of brackish water. Once, he would have been forced to drink the muddy water, leaving his mouth coated and his throat tasting nothing but the earth for hours. Now with a shaping of water and earth, that was a simple enough thing to fix, furnishing him with drinkable water.

  He wiped water from his chin and rubbed his hands across his pants. Jasn was dressed more plainly than Lachen, the thin fabric more suited to the heat of Rens than the heavier warrior’s clothing Lachen wore. He could shape some of the heat out of the air if needed and make himself more comfortable, but doing so took energy and effort. Shaping was a strain, much like any other activity. If he exerted himself too long, fatigue would set in, leaving him weakened. After years spent training with some of the greatest shapers of Ter, he had grown stronger, like a blacksmith building muscle working in front of the forge, but he didn’t risk wasting unnecessary energy this close to the border. Rens could attack at any time. Most of the time, Jasn welcomed the conflict.

  “Why did you ask me to come here?” he asked, bringing the conversation back around to where it had begun. Lachen was the one who had twisted it, pulling him into a past that Jasn had tried so hard to forget, much like he tried to forget Katya.

  “Can’t I simply want to visit with an old friend?”

  “Is that what we still are?” Jasn asked.

  “Aren’t we?” Lachen stared at him with a dark intensity to his gaze,
his eyes a brown so deep, they were nearly black.

  Jasn chose not to answer that question. Whatever he and Lachen had been, it was so far in that past to render it meaningless. Born only a few weeks apart, they had grown up together, becoming inseparable until the moment Renis came to their village. In the time before that, they were brothers, and Jasn had no other brothers.

  “We haven’t spoken in years,” Jasn said softly, starting slowly. “You did not come after she was lost, though you clearly knew what she meant to me. And when I committed myself to Rens, you did not stop me. Why come to me now, Lachen? Why do you suddenly care? Why demand my presence?”

  “Demand is a bit strong, don’t you think? I would say that I requested.”

  “When the head of the order summons, is there really much of a choice?”

  “There is always choice, Jasn. Otherwise, we would not be men.”

  Lachen said it so seriously and so softly that Jasn wasn’t even sure what he had said at first.

  “What choice would you have for me now, then?”

  “A chance to find focus. From what I understand, you’ve lost your focus, old friend.”

  Jasn paused while leaning toward the stream again, looking up. Lachen held his arms casually extended, but Jasn didn’t doubt that one arm was always ready to grab the long blade sheathed at his side. It was said that once Lachen unsheathed his sword, death followed.

  “What would you know of my focus?” Jasn asked.

  “More than you realize.”

  Jasn scooped another cupful of water, shaping it sloppily this time, leaving streamers of green and brown in the water. Lachen watched him as he drank, saying nothing.

  “Some would say that I am singularly focused,” Jasn said.

  “Some would.”

  “What can you offer me that will help me rediscover my focus?”

  “You think of her often?”

  The change in topic was jarring. Jasn straightened his back and met Lachen’s eyes. “Every day.”

  “You know, then, how she died?”