Infinity Blade: Awakening

pulling out a handful of rings. He held one of them up, one of the very first he had found. It generated blasts of fire. Like most of the others, it had stopped working soon after he killed the God King.

“TEL, can you tell me why this ring stopped functioning?”

“I would guess,” TEL said, “that it was set for local power, and something disrupted the source of energy.”

“Can I set it to work out here?”

“It depends on the ring,” TEL said. “If you wanted to make it function, you would probably need a similar source of energy to what it creates. Then it could draw on that and transport it to you.”

Siris turned the ring over in his fingers, and-for the first time-noticed something on the inside. A piece was designed to come off, a tiny shard. About half the size of his smallest fingernail, it reminded him of the disc that was paired with the ring that summoned the sword.

Draw on a similar type of energy, he thought, and transport it to you. They were actually very similar, this ring and the transportation one.

“I need something hot,” Siris said.

“Might I note,” TEL said, “if we had something hot, would that not solve our problem in and of itself?”

Siris looked down at the metal disc, then grasped it in his hand. He took a deep breath, putting the ring on his other hand.

TEL stood up. “Oh, oh dear. No, no, no. That is a bad idea, BAD. You don’t have enough heat inside of you to start a fire. I’m sorry. Ninety-eight- point-six, across a hundred and eighty pounds of flesh. Oh, you’ll get a burst of flame, but you’ll be dead at the end of it. Please, do not, do not, do not-”

“Fine,” Siris said, holding up a hand to TEL. “I won’t. But I’ve got to find something warm to use.”

He looked right at the horse.

“Still not hot enough,” TEL noted.

That was almost a pity. But what . . . The steam vents, Siris thought. Isa said they were all around out here. Had he smelled some on the march here from the river?

Dared he leave Isa with this thing? “I command you not to harm her,” he said to TEL.

“I wouldn’t have anyway.”

“Stay here. Watch over her.”

“As you command.”

He almost ordered the thing away. But what good would that do? If it went to report, Siris would be discovered. If it remained here, he might find a way to control it.

Siris turned back the way they’d gone, and started jogging. It was a difficult run. They’d walked some four hours since the river. He’d noticed the scent somewhere about halfway through that time.

It grew dark. He ran on, pushing through patches of bamboo and across open meadows. Was he going the right way? What if . . .

There!

He found the vents tucked up against the side of a rockfall beside a hill. These ones were slim, and didn’t give off much heat-certainly less than he’d hoped. Still, the cracks seemed deep, and the scent of sulfur was strong.

He dropped the metal disc down the one that seemed the deepest, then turned and ran back the way he’d come. A half hour later, puffing-wheezing-he reached the camp, though he’d had to call out to TEL to find it. The sky was nearly pitch black.

Siris ducked under the damp blanket stretched between stands of bamboo. He knelt beside the firepit, pushing the ring farther onto his finger. He held out his hand, palm forward, trying to summon the heat.

He felt nothing at first. Then, with relief, he felt a faint warmth around his finger. The ring made a clicking sound, then buzzed.

A blast of flame erupted from his palm. Its coming was so sudden, he almost jerked back. The fire blazed forward and covered the entire firepit. Steam hissed, wood popped. Siris had to turn his face away.

With focus, he took the heat down from an inferno to a careful bake; better to dry the wood than turn everything in the camp to ash. The heat continued for a good count of a hundred before the ring buzzed, its energy expended.

Siris lowered his hand and looked at what he’d done. The wood was singed, and some of it smoldered, flames growing. He nurtured these, and in minutes he had a satisfying fire. He positioned Isa beside it with the blanket over her back, her head resting on some wadded-up clothing.

Finally, Siris sat back against the rocks, rain falling lightly on his head. There wasn’t room under the blanket for him, with the fire and Isa. He exhaled softly.

“Where did you did find a source of such heat?” TEL asked. The golem sat in the rain as well.

“Some cracks in the ground,” Siris said. “Isa said they were common in this area.”

“Ah . . .” TEL said. “Yes, yes. Very clever. Hopefully you didn’t melt the transmittance disc by tossing it into lava! But I suppose those can be replaced.”

Siris wrapped his cloak around himself, the one Isa had given him on that first day. “You’ll now tell me everything you know about . . . what was it you said? The Patterns of True Swordsmanship?”

“They are of ancient date,” TEL said. “The most accomplished art of a warrior, a unity between sword and body. Some Deathless claim it took them centuries of practice to master them. Mortals aren’t supposed to be able to grasp them in their short lifetimes.”

For some reason, Siris felt colder.

“They are intended,” TEL continued, “to be used in fighting multiple opponents of inferior skill. The Deathless developed them so that one of them could stand against many; indeed, they are next to useless in a formal two- combatant duel. One could argue that the formal duel rose out of so many Deathless being accomplished at the True Patterns.”

“So how do I know them?” Siris asked.

“I cannot answer that.”

Siris was quiet for a time, listening the rain beat softly against the leaves. “I’m a descendant of one of the Deathless, aren’t I?”

TEL gave no reply.

“I can use their machinery. That’s what Isa meant-she can’t use the rings because her soul, her Q.I.P., doesn’t connect her to the Deathless. Mine does. I can do things I shouldn’t be able to because of my lineage. That’s why the God King was hunting us, because of our heritage.”

Again, TEL gave no reply.

“Can you answer any questions on this topic?” Siris asked.

“No,” TEL said. “I am forbidden.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I won’t hold myself accountable, just because one of my ancestors might have been a monster. I’m probably part of some illegitimate line.”

Maybe the God King’s own line, he thought with a shiver. Wouldn’t that be appropriate? Him killing his own children to make his blasted sword work?

The rain eventually let up. Siris checked on Isa, then on her coat, which he’d hung on the other side of the fire to dry, and to keep the rain from blowing in on her. The rain had soaked one side, so he switched it around.

When he turned back, she was looking at him. He started, nearly dropping the coat. She blinked, then grimaced, glancing down at her side. TEL had tied a bandage there, which she prodded at.

“You should be resting,” Siris said.

“I am resting,” she said. “This is hardly bleeding at all. That shouldn’t be possible.”

“TEL does fine work,” he said, nodding toward the golem, who sat in the rain, looking up at the stars. He hadn’t changed positions in two hours.

“I guess he does.” She sounded skeptical.

“You thirsty?”

“Yes,” she said. “Horribly so. But first, I . . .”

“Yes?”

There was something to her voice. Something soft, something intimate. “First, I’ve