The lapin leaned out the window, his paw resting on the frame. “You sure about this, Em? If Lu Har comes straight here, you’d be trapped. Only one way into this canyon.”
He didn’t want to admit it, but Lojen wished his new furry friend would stay.
“The Fallen will surely come here. But in case we should fail, I need someone to get word to Cad, Val, and that blockheaded dandy Finn.”
“I don’t like this,” Wick said. “Splitting up, I mean.”
“I don’t either, my friend. But Lojen needs to commune with the Pentax. The Mother is the only means. We need to give Brynn a chance. Without Lojen gaining Justice’s grace, she has none.”
Brynn Benld! That’s it. Emre and Cadrianna’s child, a girl named Brynn. Was that where Ru was? With the Benld daughter?
“Look after him, Lojen.” Lojen nodded and Wick started the engine again, heading back toward the trail leading out of the canyon.
Lojen was sullen and quiet the entirety of the short journey. And now, at the edge of the Temple of Mother Marrow, he was frightened. Frightened to fail his father, to fail the Pentax. To fail his ward. A drakken wardkeeper was the sacred right of his order and only the worthy ever received the honor.
They slowly walked the worn stone trail leading to the grand steps of the Temple, their boots stirring a thin layer of sand as if awakening it from millennia-aged slumber. A low mist roiled along the ground, but it lacked the pungent odor of death, like that of the Sea.
“I’m not sure about this,” Lojen concluded as they came to the base of the stairs that would take them to the porch outside the sacred temple’s cella, or innermost sanctum. Being so close, Lojen shivered.
“Your father would’ve pushed you for this. Live up to his name.”
“I’ll never live up to his name.” How could I ever live up to him? Father? Am I ready?
“Then live up to yours.”
But I can’t, he almost said before hearing Ruane’s voice call him a ‘Scurred Hatch.’
Envisioning her dubious grin seemed to trigger something within, his step was more assured, his body more erect, his tail low-swishing expectantly as he climbed the stairs. They passed between the massive columns, across the simple flat space before the cella, guarded by two wide columns. He could feel the radiance of aether all about the Temple. It was nearly overwhelming.
“The Arbiter’s bloody axe,” Lojen whispered in Justice’s name.
Built upon a dais in the center of the cella was a statue, all marble. A woman stood near twenty feet tall, clothed only in a flowing linen wrapped about her waist, her bust was not humir, instead corded with muscle and coated by interlocking exoscales like those of a draconem but mottled with flower petals. Biceps bulged with strength, one hand humir, the other claw-like. Carved fur lined one side of the neck, graceful sloping like a feline, the other gnarled like an old oak. But the head—Mother Marrow’s head, Lojen amended—bore the markings of more races than he could imagine one able to sculpt without it turning to muck. Eyes rounded like lapin, angled snout of draconem, humir mouth, elfirish and goblin ears, a dvergirish brow, orcirish underbite. And so much more. Whiskers and scales. Spikes and long hair. Curved horns atop Her head.
It was both eerie and magnificent at the same time. How?
“Now is the time for you to become who you were meant to be. For your father. For your sister. For Zenith and Mother Marrow. Justice, Brio, and Bliss.”
I’m not ready, he wanted to say, but as he gazed upon the face of the Forgemistress of Creation, Lojen felt his legs inching closer toward the statue, compelled. Emre stayed behind, for this was Lojen’s path and his alone. He went to his knees, mere inches from the dais, never taking his eyes from the carved marble. Lojen pulled his father’s horns—identical to the ones on Mother Marrow’s head he realized—from his vest pocket. Like two curved spikes, he held them aloft, arms outstretched.
Warmth washed over him, like the heat of a fire nearby. It settled across his shoulders, his body, his soul like a blanket cocooning him. He closed his eyes, taking it all in. Calm, collected, unafraid.
Aether.
A siren song, soft and gentle at first, swirled around him as if coming from everywhere and nowhere, coming to a point at the horns in his claws. It flitted through the air and channeled into the sacred horns as if it pierced the abyss between time and space. Soothing, powerful, fulfilling. Lyrical resonance grew within the song, words forming, spinning around his soul, into his heart.
It was the Hymn of Justice.
“LOJEN, SON OF TEVUN. BLOOD OF SIRELAR, DESCENDANT OF DELIOS. WARDKEEPER HEIR.” The heavenly voice of Mother Marrow spoke to him.
My Goddess. Lojen was scared; worried he would say the wrong thing. Terrified he wouldn’t be deemed worthy to succeed his father’s place. Fearful he wasn’t as strong, as loyal.
“YOU KNEEL BEFORE ME, HONORED AND GLORIFIED AS A CHILD DOES BEFORE THEIR MOTHER. YOU BESEECH MY GRACE AND THAT OF MY CHILDREN?”
He summoned every morsel of courage within his breast. I only wish to honor You, my Goddess. My loyalty shall only be to You, He Who Fathered the World, and my ward. To Your children. To Justice.
“YOUR HEART IS KNOWN TO US, LOJEN TEVUNSON. THERE IS NOTHING BUT GOODNESS AND HONOR WITHIN YOU. YOUR FATHER TRAINED YOU WELL. WORRY NOT ABOUT YOUR OWN FAILINGS, EVERY SOUL FALTERS, EVEN A GOD LIKE HE WHO FATHERED THE WORLD. IT IS ABOUT HOW YOU COME TO STAND AFTERWARD. SOME COWER, OTHERS REMAIN CAGED. BUT THOSE WHO STAND FREE, THEY ARE THE TRUEST WARRIORS.”
He’d done his best to listen to every word, every oath, every task his father had ever given to him. Lojen’d spent his entire hatchhood trying to be worthy for this honor in hopes to impress his father. It’s the only thing he’d ever wanted with his life, to be a wardkeeper.
The magical presence of aether filled him with hope.
“YOUR FATHER SERVED EMINENCE WITH ALL HIS HEART. AS DID HIS FATHER BEFORE HIM, AND SO BACK TO THE FIRST OF OUR WARDKEEPERS AFTER THE SCHISM BETWEEN ZENITH AND NOCTURNE AND THAT OF THE BIRTH OF THE PENTAX. YOU WILL DIGNIFY OUR PRESENCE IN LIFE BY ACCEPTING OUR OFFER TO BECOME A WARDKEEPER IN OUR STEAD.”
Lojen shuddered, not in fear, but in sheer joy. My Goddess, it would be the greatest thing I could ever ask for. I will not fail You. Any of You.
“WE KNOW YOU SHALL NOT FAIL, OUR WARDKEEPER. TAKE OUR GIFT UNTO YOU. SERVE US WITH RESPECT. LAUD YOUR STRENGTH AND NEVER WAVER IN YOUR DUTY. EMINENCE AWAITS YOU.”
His heart filled with furor, pulsing with fire. Claws raised the horns, slowly, lingering doubt still. But then Lojen drew a deep breath and brought the horns to the stumps over his eyes, touching the hardened spikes to the waiting emptiness, locking home.
A brilliant light of crystal clapped like lightning, sending rivulets of pure energy crackling around the entire statue in a diamond sheen. Healing energy birthed from aether rose from beneath his body, filling him with ease. The gunshot wounds in his leg disappeared as spells formed of the Four Tenets of Aether tended him, weariness of the previous days washed away. His scales hardened, even more than normal. They interlocked seamlessly, strengthening.
Whole, he felt.
Fulfilled, he was.
Able, he knew.
He pulled his claws away from the horns and stood. The weight upon his head was the same, but he could feel them, the curves, the length, the power to do right swimming through him. The power of the Pentax and the Crystal of Life.
