Page 281 of Of Empires and Dust
Rist could feel Garramon probing at the edges of his consciousness with threads of Spirit.
“More.”
Rist drew a sharp breath, and with it a surge of power swept along the threads and burned in his veins. The crackle of lightning swept over his skin.
“Hold,” Garramon whispered.
“No, I can go deeper.”
“Rist,hold.”
Garramon’s voice faded, drowned out by the thrum of the Spark. Rist felt as though his blood itself was on fire, but it was tantalising, intoxicating. The Sparkwantedhim to draw deeper, to pull harder. It called to him, and he answered.
Garramon’s words had awakened something in him.
“What is your permanence? What is the mark you wish to leave on this world?”
Rist had never been good at anything in particular. He loved reading, but was that a skill? He didn’t think so. Not compared to the way Dann could hunt and use a bow, or the way nothing scared him, the way he was fearless. Not compared to how Calen wielded a blade, the way he always chose the right words, or the way he could justdoanything. Besides the bow, anything Calen set his mind to he excelled at. Rist had actually found that quite frustrating as they’d grown up. Rist had never been like either of them. But with the Spark, he had found that thing, that one thing in which he truly excelled.
This was his.
The Spark was his permanence, his mark on the world. If he could draw on enough of it, he could make a true difference in this war. He could become an Arcarian. He could be remembered for something worthwhile. But most of all, he could matter. He wanted to matter.
Rist continued to open himself and draw harder and harder until the threads that spun around him were thick as his forearms, the air itself seeming to ripple and burn. He lost sense of his body, his mind pulling away and losing itself in the Spark.
The threads continued to spin in the darkness until they were as thick as the elemental strands themselves, creating a sphere of variegated light that whipped about him like the winds of a storm. The pain slowly ebbed and was replaced by an almost euphoric burning that swept through him. He felt as though he could shape the world itself with his will alone.
And then, in an instant, everything was gone, and he snapped his eyes open while his lungs chased after air. He slumped forwards, deep aches setting into his bones and joints. He shivered, the warmth pulled from his body. He’d never felt so weak in his life.
Garramon sat before him, just as he had been, frowning.
Rist’s vision blurred, and the world went dark.
When Rist awoke,he was wrapped in a thick woollen blanket and the sun was setting, red-hued golden light spilling over the Lodhar Mountains in the west.
Garramon sat opposite him, drinking from a small metal flask, a book in one hand:The Essence of Life and Death, by Mona Shikart.Rist knew the title. It was a book he’d seen in the emperor’s chamber. But this one was new, recently copied and bound.
Rist propped himself up on his elbows, still weak, a slight shiver still holding his bones. “What… what did you do? How long have I been asleep?”
“I warded you before you killed us both.” Garramon flicked his gaze up from the book, his mouth a thin line as he examined Rist. He slid a strip of black steel into the book’s pages, closed it over, then leaned forwards and offered Rist the flask. “You’ve been out a few hours. The march has been long, and I didn’t fancy carrying you back to camp. You’ve put on quite a bit of muscle since we first met.”
Rist grunted as he accepted the offer and slumped onto his left elbow. One sniff and he knew the liquid within was whiskey. He’d never forget that smell. Rist took a swig, the warmth washing through him almost immediately, then handed the flask back.
“You were reckless and more than a little stupid,” Garramon said, pursing his lips. “Do that when I’m not here to stop you, and youwilldie.”
Rist narrowed his eyes at Garramon, then noticed the black char marks across the broken earth at the man’s back. All about the crater, new gashes had been carved into the rock.
The Exarch took a swig of the whiskey and leaned closer to the fire. “You must walk slowly in this. The Spark is like a drug. It is intoxicating and euphoric and, if left unchecked, viciously corrupting, becauseallpower corrupts. I know what it feels like the first time you truly reach beyond what you thought possible, the first time the Sparktrulyfloods your veins. Once you reach that point, it is a more potent show of strength to resist the temptation than to lean into it. The Spark craves to be used. It will consume you and everything in its path to be so. Do you understand?”
It took all the strength Rist could muster to pull himself into a seated position. He tucked the blanket tighter around himself, welcoming the warmth from the fire. He stared into the flames. “It was like nothing I’ve ever felt… like my veins were on fire and my very soul burned… and yet, I felt like a god.”
“You wouldn’t have felt much like a god when your eyes burned out of their sockets. And when drawing as deeply as you were, The Saviour likely would have welcomed you home.”
Rist pulled in a long, drawn-out breath, sighing as the flames flickered before him. At any other time, the idea of dying would have shaken him to his core, but at that moment his mind was all haze and fog. “At least it would be quick.”
Garramon laughed. “If you kill yourself drawing this deeply from the Spark, I can promise you two things. One, it will be the most painful, horrendous experience of your life. Two, it will not be quick.”
Rist lifted his gaze from the fire, and Garramon sat forwards, pulling his knees to his chest.
