Golden Tide (Song of the Aura, Book Four) (21 page)

“
What now?” Gribly was worried, but somehow, unsurprised, to see both of them looking to him for advice. Him! But he wasn’t just a street thief anymore… he was the
Prophet
.

“
We…” he bit back the bitterness of abandoning Elia to her fate, and forced himself to speak. “We can’t stop this… yet. We have to make for the Giant’s Isle- and Lauro- before it’s too late.”

Berne nodded, and began to Change again. Gram bowed his head respectfully, acting like a totally different man. Gribly turned to go, to tell Karmidigan of what had occurred…

…
and found the Reethe nymph himself, along with most of the crew, standing at the hatch not far behind where he had sat. How much had they heard? How much had they seen?

“
We hear, and we obey, Lord Prophet,” Karmidigan swore, bowing deeply and clapping one fist to his chest. “Our will, our ship, and our Strides are yours.” Behind him, the rest of the crew imitated his bow and motion.

All Gribly could think of was Elia’s face, right as she was sucked into whatever netherworld was contained in that horrible bone-white dagger.

Long after the Aura’s words had faded, Lauro was still staring at the enormous chamber before him. He tried to drink it all in at once, and was almost overwhelmed. The sheer
size
of the Red Aura’s workshop was astounding… and terrifying.

Bold red light illuminated the entire space from below and above. Lauro, Mudlo- and, it seemed, Steamclaw- stood on a wide, half-circle stone balcony, with the doors of stone closed tight behind them. From there outward, it was as if the Giant’s Mount was hollowed out entirely; beneath the balcony, the wall sheered down into unfathomable depths, and above, it stretched into an infinitely high domed ceiling, the point of which seemed always just out of Lauro’s vision.

From the balcony, a wide, segmented, stone bridge led out for several hundred feet, where it ended at a circular platform that ran upward in ever-rising stairs, much like those outside. Three other bridges joined the platform at the points of the compass, forming a perfectly symmetrical cross. The platform in the middle was every bit as long as the bridges, and stretched down into the depths of the chamber, supported by a titanic pillar of whirring, clanking, spinning, chugging… machines, or rather, one
huge
machine.

Four symbols were burned into the stone, one in each place where a bridge met the platform. Three of them, Lauro recognized as the ancient symbols for the Three Physical Elements: Sea, Stone, and Sky. But the fourth was hidden on the opposite side of the platform, and before he could wonder what it was a blast of heat hit him from below, and his wind senses went wild with the sensation. He gasped in shock, but not pain, and looked down. So far down, he could barely make it out, red and orange magma were flowing in circles around the central machine-pillar, letting off heat as if it had been released mere moments ago… which he suspected it had.

“
What… is… this… place…?” Mudlo croaked, seeming even more overwhelmed than Lauro.

“
Do you not recognize it?”
boomed a voice from the center of the chamber.
“It is the Forge of the Heavens! My workshop, and my home!”

Then Lauro’s eyes were drawn again to the platform in the chamber’s center, and the dais at the top of the circular stairs. At the top sat an enormous throne, ten feet tall at its back, made entirely from mechanical parts that shone in polished hues of gold, black, and red. It had been turned away when they first entered, and so Lauro’s eye had slid over it without noticing, thinking it part of the scarlet blur of the chamber’s far side.

But now the throne turned, slowly, humming with the sounds of a hundred turning gears, until it faced them directly. In it sat a man, or something like one, that simply defied description.

Lauro had met two of the Aura in his questing. Traveller had been subdued, humble and quick to laugh, a traveler, as his name suggested, there to guide others along the paths of life and destiny. Wanderwillow had held a weightier might, but he had been limited to the form he had chosen, serving others from all different, diverse parts of Vast… and beyond.

If Traveller had been a traveler, and Wanderwillow an innkeeper, then the Red Aura was a king.

The Aura exuded confidence and power, enhanced by his enormous height and size, crowned with trappings better than King Larion himself, or any other monarch. Red armor covered every inch of the Aura, and a flowing white cape hung from his shoulders and draped down the throne under him, going on for several inches past his silver-booted feet. His body glowed- literally
glowed
- with energy, a scarlet shine that crackled with sheer power every time he shifted his weight. It was hard to tell from such a distance, but Lauro thought the Aura, Automo, he had called himself, wore some sort of silvery helm, or crown.

Lifting one glowing hand, Automo beckoned. Lauro felt a surge of power within the chamber, a blending of all three elements that threatened to intoxicate him with its mere passing. So
this
was what the true power of an Aura could be.

Eagerly, forgetting all his former hesitation and fatigue, Lauro tramped forward, across the balcony and onto the bridge, Steamclaw loping along ahead of him, Mudlo tagging behind, lagging slightly. As the prince walked between air and fire, spanning the enormous space, the Red Aura began to speak again, his voice at the same level no matter how close Lauro came.

“
Eleven there were, there are, there will be. Seven hold the Realm of Realms; Three, the Nation of Nations; One, the Distance In Between. Seven to feast; Three to protect; and One to bind the seams. Hear of the Aura, mortals of the Sceptre, and fear their might!”

Hardly the kind of speech Lauro had expected. It sounded as if Automo was reciting a phrase of poetry… or prophecy. He kept on walking, strength growing with every step. Mudlo sucked in breath greedily behind him… the effect must be potent on them both.

“
Fate laid waste to the Wind King’s touch. The brother of a thief, the prophet of an age. The Fallen rise, the Risen die. The hand of Destiny bleeds, the heart of Mastery falters. Four to go, two to return. One to bleed, one to freeze, one to walk, one to crawl. Enemies are allies, when allies are dead.”

Lauro shivered, but kept going. Mudlo was breathing hard behind him.

“
The Red King sits on his silver throne, deep in the heart of the reddest stone. The others together, the others will fall, save for the Red King in his Red Hall.”

Steamclaw yelped, howled, and bounded the rest of the distance, coming to heel at Automo’s feet, groveling like a pet hound returned to its master.

“
The Forge of the Godlike a fire has wrought, seen through the prism of Fellsparks sought. The blade of the midnight from ashes shall rise, forged with the blood from the Soulsearcher’s eyes.”

The Red Aura’s tone had changed. It sounded more commanding now… and more terrifying.

“
Why should we wait when the moment is ours? Why should we wait for the slaying of stars? Sea, Stone, and Sky will fall, the Day of Norne will break us all…”

A sound like a thunderbolt rippled through the air, and Lauro found himself halting at the bottom of the stairs leading up to Automo’s throne. A sudden thought occurred to him, slicing through the haze around his mind.

“
You… your power, O Aura… why have you not stopped my kingdom from falling to the Golden Nation? Men are dying out there… and…” He cut off sharply, almost choking, as the condescending glance of the Aura grazed him. It felt entirely different than the encouraging gaze of the Brown or Gray Aura. Not evil, perhaps… but
arrogant
. Something was wrong. Something was
very
wrong.

The Red Aura spoke again, and this time his voice was that of a normal person’s, though a bit metallic… almost like Steamclaw. “You came for a weapon, did you not, Prince of Men?”

Lauro swallowed. So much power, just floating in the air, waiting for him to try to grasp it… waiting for him to fail, so it could crush him… what was going on?

“
Yes…” he said, hesitantly, then again, more confident. “Yes. I have come for the weapon the Gray Aura Traveller prophesied would save all of Vast.” His courage grew with each word. This had to be a test, the way following Steamclaw and racing to the Giant’s Mount had all been a test. He would
not
fail.

“
Traveller…” The Red Aura mused, rubbing the chin of his mask as if it were real. Bright blue eyes shone past the holes higher up, and they were riveted on Lauro. Absently, the Aura’s other hand scratched Steamclaw behind the head. Master and hound…

“
Please, O Aura,” Lauro said, hoping he was not assuming too much, “The fiends who assault Vastion have come all the way to your own doorstep. They are attacking the Giant’s Isle! We… we are out of time. If you must forge a weapon, the sooner the better.”

“
Out of time… indeed,” Automo said, considering. After what seemed an agonizingly long time, he nodded, having apparently come to a decision. Slowly he rose, regal and mighty, and stepped forward from his throne, a benevolent smile creasing his features. With a violent start Lauro realized that the metal mask was not a mask at all… but a
face
. Automo’s skin was made of metal!

The Aura can take any form,
he remembered one of the clerics, probably Argoz, saying.
Commonly they take the one that pleases them most… the one that most closely resembles their elevated True Forms.

Traveller… a traveler. A human.

Wanderwillow… a tree-nymph. Not an innkeeper at all.

Automo… a machine. A bloody
machine!

“
The weapon?” Lauro said, trying not to sound cowed.

“
I have already forged it,” Automo said gravely, “For I long predicted that such a time would come… after the First Failure. Behold!”

The Red Aura thrust out a hand toward the glowing depths of the chamber beyond the platform. Fire and magma leaped up in a glittering, deadly arc, and lightning flashed from the ceiling. Heat blasted upward, swirling Automo’s great white cape…

…
and a glowing, white-hot sword materialized in the Aura’s outstretched hand. Automo closed his metal-gauntleted grip around the handle as if it did not hurt him at all, and swung it over his head in a flash of white and red, roaring a wordless battle cry. When the light-blindness retreated from Lauro’s vision, he gasped in astonishment.

It was a greatsword, larger than any the prince had ever seen. The handle alone was nearly as long as the blades on his halfswords, and the blade was long, wide, and straight. The shock was its color: the entire weapon seemed to be crafted from the same substance, an ivory that suggested bones but seemed much harder and smoother. Where the curving double-crossguard met the handle, though, red-orange veins of some mysterious crystal wove up the blade on both sides, almost up to the tip, in a jagged pattern that seemed to glorify the violence and bloodshed of war without needing words or a voice.

What in Vast, the Heavens, and the Blazes
was
that thing?

“
Behold!”
roared Automo, “The Midnight Sword!
Ker’junas!
With this blade shall the pride of the Legion and the arrogance of the Aura be undone!”

A ragged hiss escaped Mudlo’s lips. “It cannot be! We’ve been betrayed, my Prince!”

Lauro almost jumped: in part because he had forgotten the ranger was still there, and in part because he suddenly, fearfully recognized where he had seen such a weapon before:

…
In the hands of Sheolus, the banished Golden Aura, when he stabbed Elia and tore her spirit out of the Otherworld.

“
No… you
can’t
be one of them!” Lauro shouted. “You can’t be one of the Legion! Traveller would never-” Steamclaw cut him off with a howl.

“
Traveller is a fool!” bellowed Automo, taking another step down the stairs. “He pulls the dreamstrings of Fate, telling Norne and the other Aura he can save Vast… but did he ever tell you that we were rebels? Did he tell you,
Prince
, that only three of the Aura thought your pitiful land worth saving? Three! Wanderwillow, Traveller, and
me
. We acted against the edict of the White Aura, Rham, and came here to cleanse the taint of the Legion forever! We thought we could do it the old way… with peace, and morals, spreading knowledge of the Creator! We. Were. Wrong!”