Ascension
01 A.O.R.
One
RODIAN
The mountainous fjords in the far north of Urova contained some of the most beautiful landscapes on Maricol, according to the locals. The mountains were ever covered in snow, and the wind that howled through deep, craggy valleys and over ice-covered waters carried with it the promise of a winter storm. In the Fifth Week of the Second Month of the year, Urova was in the depths of winter, the sky pitch-black and full of stars, the midnight sun of summer long forgotten.
Urova was a country of snow and ice, with the tundra, mountains, and fjords of its far north sparsely inhabited. Most of its population lived in walled cities along the southern boreal forests near the Ashion and Daijal border. The men and women of the far north disdained the easy ways of their city-dwelling brethren, preferring the cold, rugged beauty of the land they called home.
Rodian, ivoryan of a family that traced distant roots to the bloodline that ruled Urova, was thirty-five years old and had never desired to leave the far north. On the contrary, he muchpreferred the quiet of Verdlovsk, the rural mountain town in the valley of the fjord he oversaw as Minister, to the cacophony of a southern city. Here, it was mostly peaceful, even if it wasn’t untouched by revenants. The deep cold of winter wasn’t kind to the undead, though, and the people in the far north had learned to work carefully beyond the safety of town walls and survive the effort over the centuries with the help of wardens.
Pausing by a fence post where a lantern hung, giving off a warm glow, Rodian stuck two gloved fingers into his mouth and whistled sharply. Down the snow-covered field, the pair of thick-furred dogs got to work herding the reyndeers out of the fenced-off land back toward Rodian and the way home to Verdlovsk. He wasn’t the only one working the herds today, but he was the only one handling the farthest one afield.
The reyndeers were half-wild things, but they knew him. Skittish though the beasts might be, they didn’t balk at his presence as the herding dogs urged them closer toward the open gate that would funnel them into the transport corridor. Rodian’s sled was by the gate, a pair of sled dogs resting in curled-up lumps, ignoring everything going on.
Rodian shifted his grip on the mechanical rifle he always carried when outside the town walls. Revenants might find it difficult to walk through the harsh winter cold and deep snows of the valley, but one had to always be prepared to deal with the dead. Gas lamps hung on every post surrounding the field, burning softly inside their thick glass casings, providing illumination to help see most threats.
Just not all of them.
“You watch over a strong herd. Their survival is a testament to your skill and strength,” a deep, unfamiliar voice said from behind him, startling Rodian. He turned quickly on his feet, boots crunching over the snow-covered ground, raising his rifleon instinct. The gears of its making were well-oiled, and Rodian was a skilled shot when it mattered.
When he saw who had spoken, he almost dropped the rifle out of shock.
Rodian was a keenly religious man and would know Xaxis, the Midnight Star of Urova, anywhere. The tall, barrel-chested star god was dark-skinned and dark-eyed, with a closely shaved head. Despite the cold, he lacked the type of furred winter hat Rodian wore, with earflaps that could be pinned up when the wind wasn’t terrible. His clothes were well-made and sturdy, but not appropriate for the winter. For one, the star god wore no furred overcoat, a death sentence in winter. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up past his elbows, revealing the metallic gold constellation tattoos that stretched from his elbows to the tips of his fingers.
There was no recreating that tattoo. No ink or paint could ever come close to matching that holy mark. Even if Rodian hadn’t recognized a face drawn in scripture for hundreds of years, he would recognize the constellation tattoo of his country’s guiding star.
Rodian immediately dropped to one knee in the snow, a fist pressed over his heart, and bowed his head. “My lord.”
“Ivoryan Rodian, there is a road I must have you walk.”
Xaxis’ voice rumbled like thunder between them, and Rodian drew in a sharp breath, head snapping up. His lungs went tight, nearly flinching from the Midnight Star’s steady, piercing gaze. But he held firm, even as it felt as if the ground was falling away beneath him. When a star god personally gave you a road to walk, the fork you took to a new destination wasn’t one you could turn away from.
“What do you wish of me?” Rodian asked, forcing his voice to remain steady.
Xaxis didn’t immediately answer him. Instead, the star god extended his hand, and Rodian watched as one of the reyndeers separated from the herd that had thankfully not panicked at the appearance of a stranger. The antlers on its head branched upward for at least three feet, each sharp point capable of taking out a person’s eye if one wasn’t careful.
Xaxis didn’t seem concerned, letting the animal sniff his hand before he scratched its head between the roots of its antlers. “You know of the Infernal War?”
Rodian swallowed before getting carefully to his feet, gripping his rifle tightly. “I know it is over.”
At great cost to every nation who was caught up in it. Rodian hadn’t left the far north to be part of that fight. He’d focused instead on keeping his people safe. The valley he ruled wasn’t rich in the way some others were. It didn’t have a submersible yard for the Urovan Navy and had never earned compensation for such things. War hadn’t reached Verdlovsk over the past two years, but it seemed the aftermath had finally caught up to him.
Xaxis turned and studied him before that eerie gaze focused past him. “You are needed in the capital.”
Rodian followed his gaze. In the distance, motor carriage headlights cut through the dark, traversing the winding, snow-plowed road that led toward his field and beyond into the wilds of Maricol’s poison fields. “What?—”
He broke off when he turned back around, finding the space where the Midnight Star had stood empty save for the reyndeer standing there, pawing one hoof against the snow. For one wild instant, Rodian thought about clambering onto the reyndeer’s back and riding off, but?—
He was ivoryan, the title marking him as a member of the rarified peerage of Urova. He had a duty to his people, and he would not run from it.
When the caravan of motor carriages reached the field he was in, Rodian met them at the fence between the glow of gas lamps, chin held high. The first step down his new road was met by a royal courier and a star priest, both bowing to the royal degree. Small flags affixed to the motor carriages carrying the royal Urovan crest snapped in the winter wind, the smell of snow in the air, hinting at a storm.
“Isar Rodian, we have come to take you home to Matriskav.”
His eyes widened at the title they gave him, stomach knotting tight as he realized what it meant, what devastation must have been wrought in the capital after the Infernal War for the Star Order to sift through its genealogies and find him worthy of the crown.
