Page 74 of Grounded (Convergence #1)
The Battle of Icara was underway.
As soon as they came within sight of the floating behemoth, Thaxvarien knew that he was too late.
No one even challenged them as they approached—a wingless Aethari man flying up to the city with a Medean woman in his arms. They should have been stopped a hundred yards from Icara.
By this time, it was midday, but even in the sunlight, Thaxvarien could see the flashes going off all over the city.
Pulsers. Maybe even bursters. The screams verified his assumption.
Thaxvarien clutched his destra closer and headed for the most concentrated area of light blasts.
Liri gasped as he brought them down onto an empty side street. Thaxvarien knew it wasn't the grandeur of his home city that affected her. After all, she'd seen it before in her dream. No, it was the violence that shocked her. The blood. The bodies. The terrible roars of fury.
A sense of urgency shot through Thaxvarien, driving him forward.
Letting the sources lead him, he took Liria's hand, and they raced out of the side street and into one of the many plazas that spotted the city.
This was the battle's epicenter. The place where the two armies collided.
At the center of the plaza, a glorious everwell stood with a statue of an Aethari warrior emerging from the fountain's rose quartz basin.
Even with the converged device inside it, continuously purifying the water, the water ran red.
Thaxvarien spoke, “Cease!”
The vibration of the word spread like ripples in a pond, shimmering through the air and anyone in its path.
In all directions. Every person struck by the sound went still.
Weapons pointed down. Stares locked on Thaxvarien Rennux—the Wingless Blasphemer or the Blessed One, depending on which side of the plaza you were on—as he stepped into the middle of the battle and stood on the edge of the fountain.
“What are you doing?!” Thaxvarien roared.
Liri had let go of his hand when he climbed onto the everwell, but only to pull her pulsers out and turn to face the opposite direction, guarding his back.
Thaxvarien ignored the flare of love in his chest that her fierce protection ignited and focused on his people.
There would be time to worship his destra later, when this was over. In private.
Voice back to normal, he shouted, “Look upon yourselves!” He turned sideways and held out his hands, one to each army.
“I am Thaxvarien Rennux, son of the Speaker, and I have just come from Thennis, where I stopped another battle between Aethari. Over me.” He glared at them.
“How dare you use me like this! How dare you wave my name like a banner as you destroy each other!”
Liri shifted, glanced at him over her shoulder, and nodded. He had their attention. This was his chance to get through to them. His only chance.
Thaxvarien shook his head. “We Aethari are proud of who we are.
Too proud. We've been taught that height equals might.
That up here is where the elite live. If you can't fly here on your own, you are unworthy of the sky.
And if you can't reach the sky, you can't possibly have the connection to the Source of Magic that we do. But look at us!” He pointed at them.
“Look at yourselves! You are killing each other. Our beautiful streets are covered in blood and feathers. The pristine stone is pockmarked by pulser blasts.” He paused to glare at them before shouting, “Icara has fallen!”
The roar rang out over the Aethari—a tremulous wave that made them shudder and hang their heads.
Thax went on, his words his alone. But still, the approval of both Sources shimmered in the air around him.
“Look upon your great city. See what your pride has wrought. And over what? Magic. The very source you believe you know best. Well, Source is here with me now.” Clouds gathered overhead, darkening the day.
“It brought me to you without wings, urging me to come here and save this city. And I assure you, this is not what it wants. This day will be recorded in history as the day the Aethari wounded the Source of Magic. It weeps for you. It bleeds with you.”
Thaxvarien held out his arms, and rain fell upon the sky city of Icara. Tears from Source, sent to wash the city clean. Wings hung low even as stricken faces lifted to the sky. Eyes closed as the rain fell softly. Not a storm, just a gentle admonishment.
“Before I went to the surface, I was just like you. I thought there was nothing better than being Aethari. I believed in my people.” Thaxvarien shook his head as rain slid down his cheeks like tears.
“It took the utter destruction of what I thought made me Aethari to show me that it's not our wings or even the magic inside us that makes us who we are. Our ancestors chose to align with the Source of Magic alone. They sacrificed convergence and gave themselves utterly to one source. We are the children of the Source of Magic, altered so that we may reach the Source without machines. I thought that made me better than Medeans. How wrong I was. How foolish.”
Thaxvarien paused to collect his thoughts and search the faces in the crowd. As he did, the rain stopped, and a shaft of sunshine came through the clouds to spotlight him. The Aethari gasped.
“We are not better than those on the surface. We are different. We chose a different path. But somewhere along that path, we forgot where we came from. We forgot that we were all once Medeans. And we forgot why we chose Magic over Science. Look to the Source, my people.” He lifted a hand and his face, basking for a moment in the sunlight. “Feel its power, but also its love.”
He looked down once more, connecting with tear-filled stares.
“We came here to connect with that love. To be representatives of it. What happened to us?” Thax waved at the two armies.
“We were supposed to bring that love back to our cousins on the ground. Share it with them. Be ambassadors of the Source of Magic. We were supposed to magnify it together. That is where our true power lies. Unity. Love. Harmony. Instead, we became haughty. We paid in blood and flesh for our sky cities and then resented the Medeans who could build them. We withdrew. Made our laws to separate us further. Told lies to our children to foster hatred. Why?!”
Thaxvarien hung his head, overcome for a moment by the sorrow of both Sources. Until Liri took his hand. He looked down at her, and his heart healed. Instantly. He wasn't there to mourn the past. He was there to forge a new path into the future.
Lifting his chin, Thaxvarien said, “I lost my wings. I thought I had lost myself underground. But my destra braved the Nethren city to bring me back.” He reached down to Liri, took her hand, and helped her up onto the lip of the everwell.
“This Medean woman showed me that strength isn't found in your flesh, and truth isn't found in one source alone. To fear one is to deny both. I thought the Source of Magic had abandoned me. Then it showed me another way. It gave me flight without wings. Convergence like no other. Because in losing my wings, I gained a connection to the other Source.”
Thaxvarien held out his free hand, and a cloud flowed down from the sky to swirl around his palm.
The Aethari murmured and swayed. Wings lifted.
Some showed awe, but others showed anger.
Not that he expected anything different.
You don't give up centuries-old beliefs in the span of a few heartbeats because you got rained on.
“Yes, that was the reaction of my father's guards when they saw me fly,” Thaxvarien said.
“They watched me converge and decided that I was the Blessed One.
But, as Aethari tend to do, they did not include me in their awe of me.
They formed their beliefs, made their plans, and used me as an excuse to justify their actions.
Early this morning, those men committed murder in my name.
They killed loyal Aethari soldiers in their sleep.
A coward's attack. Vicious and cold. Under the guidance of both Sources, I found those men guilty of treason and murder. And I executed them.”
Gasps came. From both sides.
“Yes, those rebels are dead because they murdered men I respected and threatened my destra, all in my name.
And yet, I mourn them. I mourn the soldiers murdered and their murderers.
Because I know this could have been avoided.
Change doesn't have to come at such a high price.
If you just remember who you are and where you came from, you will understand each other.
You will see the path forward. Source guides all of us, not just the Speakers.
Once, there were no speakers because every Aethari could connect to Source and feel its guidance.
When we forgot our past, we lost that connection, and Source had to find the few remaining Aethari who were open enough to listen and speak on its behalf.
Don't you see? The Source of Magic has been trying to reach you for centuries. Open your hearts, Aethari. Be the people you were meant to be!”
Thaxvarien thought he had gotten through to them. But of course, it wasn't that easy. He had given them a spark to light their memories and hearts. He had to foster that ember as much as he could and then trust in them to make the right choice. In other words, this was just the beginning.
“Blessed One,” someone called. “We do this for you! We fight to overthrow the oppressors. All you are saying is what we believe. They are the ones who don't have faith in Source.”
Yes, there it was. Even those who wanted change clung to their beliefs.