The Raie'Chaelia (Legend of the Raie'Chaelia, Book One 1)

by Melissa Douthit

  “Isn’t that the huge stone fortress in Culmanoq with the great …”

  “Chain bridge. Yep, that’s the one.”

  “How do you know that’s where they went? Is it in the notebook?”

  He nodded, glancing back down at the book. “Yeah, basically, if I’m reading it correctly. Apparently the Chinuk you met in the forest witnessed the whole event from the treetops. Here, look at this sequence of letters.” He directed her to it with his forefinger. “This means bridge, or arch, and this one, to the right of it, means chain, or metal string. Chinukan adjectives mostly go to the right of the object being described.” He looked at her, his expression serious. “We were right, though. They took the villagers by ship and not just one, but several. He describes the King’s men as wearing chain mail and black cloaks. That would be the Draaquans, if I am guessing correctly. He also mentions the Red Flame of Maalda, marking both the flags on the ships and the leader’s breastplate. I think I know who that is, too. I hope I’m wrong, but if I’m not, then these men are under direct orders from the King himself and that’s not good.” Jeremiah paused in thought and then continued: “Although, he writes that from what he saw, no one was harmed, which is a relief. You know, this little creature is amazing. It’s incredible that he understood what the men were saying.”

  “How do you know it’s a He?”

  Jeremiah flipped to the front page of the notebook and gestured toward what was written. “This says, Property of Master Bunejab Bea. I’m translating the name according to the sounds of the letters. Of course, it’s still not pronouncing it correctly, though. We could never actually say it correctly, but we can get close.” Chalice raised an eyebrow. “Okay, let me explain. Do you know why people can’t speak Chinukan?”

  “No, why?”

  “Because the Chinuka have an extra class of speech sound that we can’t articulate. It’s called the resonant. The other two are vowels and consonants, like we have …” he continued to explain but all Chalice could hear was the distant chatter of his voice as she tuned the words out. He hasn’t changed, she thought. After all this time, he hasn’t changed. She smiled inwardly as she listened. “The resonant is actually very fascinating to study. We don’t have the voluntary muscular capacity to speak with it ourselves, but we can understand. It’s kind of like how horses can understand the meaning of something you are telling them, but can’t recreate the sound you make with their mouths. All they can do is neigh, which would be similar to the vowel sounds we make. You see?”

  “Uh … horses can understand words?” she asked wryly.

  “No. I mean they can understand your meaning when you are speaking to them by the tone in your voice.”

  “Uh … yeah … right. Whatever you say, Jeremiah. I’ll take your word for it. Fascinating stuff,” she said sarcastically.

  He grinned. Glancing back down again at the notebook, he said: “I think the Chinuka are really the most intelligent creatures in Naeo’Gaea, but even given that, it’s still amazing that he could understand the men. The Chinuka have been cut off from us for so long. How could any of them know our language?”

  “Well, you know their language.”

  He gave a slight nod of his head. “Yeah, I suppose you’ve got a point there. In any case, if you look back to the previous pages,” he said as he flipped back to the front of the notebook, “he describes people and events in the village. Apparently, he sits in the trees and observes what goes on in the town, marking the pages with the time and date. He has even recorded some of my hunting excursions in here. It’s almost as if he is studying the village. That is really strange behavior for a Chinuk. A little creepy, actually.”

  “Well, I knew he was nutty when I met him.”

  Jeremiah laughed. “Yes, certainly, but he did us a favor, though, didn’t he? Now we know what happened. And I also think I know why there were no tracks left behind.” He flipped to the page where the writing stopped, or in her view, where the scribbles and scrawls stopped. Compared to the other pages, the last page was filled with completely illegible handwriting, at least to her. “Here he describes an unnatural wind sweeping through the whole village and shaking the trees violently. I think that’s why.”

  “But wind can’t erase tracks completely.”

  “It can if it’s created for that purpose.” She looked a question at him and he said: “The King’s men are Terravailian.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right. But why would they care to cover their tracks? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I’m not sure. In any case, if my parents are on that boat, I want to go find them. If the people of my village are being taken to Chainbridge, it’s likely the people of Canton are there as well. Chainbridge is huge, big enough to house fifty villages like ours.”

  “But if your parents and the others are on those ships, and my grandparents are in Chainbridge, along with all of the other Cantonese, then that probably means that the King has already gotten what he wanted.”

  “Maybe, but we don’t really know what he’s after, do we?”

  “Well, yeah, you’re right. I agree that we can’t just stay here. When do you want to leave?”

  “As soon as we can. First light tomorrow if possible.”

  The reality of what they were considering suddenly struck her. “But it’s just the two of us, Jeremiah! How are we going to make any difference?”

  “I have no idea, but there’s got to be a way. In any case, I’m not going to let my family be subject to the King’s cruelty and I don’t really want to stick around here in case the King’s men come back. Maybe there is a way to sneak in and out of that place.” He paused and turned his head toward the fire. “You know, I think the stew is ready. Let’s eat and we can talk about it.”

  “Alright,” Chalice conceded. She knew when he could be persuaded and when he couldn’t. She set the table and Jeremiah served the stew with a silver ladle. As they sat down to eat, she pulled the bread from her bag and said: “Those are nice utensils. Where did you get them?” Splitting the bread, she turned to Jeremiah and proffered a portion.

  “They were a wedding gift to my parents from Master Aubrey, our village silversmith. My father and he were childhood buddies, kind of like me, Aemis and Tobias. They’re his sons.” Somberly, he dipped his bread into the stew and furrowed his brows. “I wonder what they are doing right now,” he mused.

  They continued to discuss their plans as they finished the meal. They would make preparations before retiring to bed and leave first light the next day. The plan was set and she hoped it would work.

  The stew was delicious. Chalice, surprised by her ravenous hunger, went back for a second helping, which she usually never did, even when she was famished. Afterward, she gave him a warm thank you and made sure to let him know what an excellent chef he was.

  He smiled. “Thanks, Chalice. I usually don’t get that from my family, especially my brothers. They like to poke fun instead.”

  “Well, that’s what brothers are for!” she teased and he frowned. “Seriously though, you are lucky to have them, you know.”

  He quirked a wry eyebrow, but he knew why she had said it. Regardless of his siblings’ banter, he would never want to trade places with her. He wondered about her family. Her grandparents had been strict about keeping silent on the matter. It was the only time he’d really ever witnessed Sebastian Pandretti be stern about anything. It was strange. It was almost as if her family had disappeared off the face of Naeo’Gaea. At times, he felt very sorry for her.

  “I’ll clean up and pack our things. If you’re tired, just rest,” he said when he noticed her yawn and stretch.

  “Okay, twist my arm.” She smiled and rose from the table to stoke the fire. “I think it needs more wood.” She disappeared out the front door and returned with a couple of solid blocks of split oaden. After placing them on the fiery heap, she snuggled into the rocking chair next to the hearth with her woolen blanket and the Delphaline. She slid off her soft, dark
lambskin boots that matched her cloak and placed them to the side on the homemade rug. Then, she began to read.

  As she skimmed the pages, reading passages from the entries randomly, she noted that each was structured similarly. Although some of the stories were written in rhythmic, cryptic prose and others were verbose tales, chronicled with clarity and detail, each story was related in both languages and always finished with a name and a symbol at the bottom of the page. She wondered who had authored the book.

  “Who wrote these stories? Do you know, Jeremiah? Was it a series of different authors or just one?”

  “Of the Delphaline? Just one. I don’t know who it was though,” Jeremiah’s voice resounded from the kitchen.

  “That would make sense since the stories all seem to have the same layout. Although, there’s nothing on the cover or in the introductory pages that gives any information on it.”

  “Well, maybe there’s something in the back of the book. Did you check?”

  “Checking …” she said in a singsong voice as she turned to the last page and gaped. She made a feeble attempt at a gasp, but was unable to make a sound. She was struck by what she saw. She couldn’t move. Moments passed. She still couldn’t speak. She could barely breathe.

  “Well … anything there?” she heard him ask, his voice seeming to echo in the far distance. “Chalice?” She immediately heard quickened footsteps from the kitchen. Then, Jeremiah burst into the room and registered the expression on her face. “You alright?”

  “I don’t know,” she said quietly. She couldn’t believe her eyes. At the bottom of the page was, like all of the other entries in the book, a symbol and a name to the left of it. Above it was a short passage of lines and at the top, the title. As he moved toward the firelight, she showed him the page.

  “Ray-chale-ya.”

  “It’s pronounced Rye-kale-ya. You don’t know Angaulic, Jeremiah?” she asked.

  “A little, but not much. I never really had time to learn it.”

  She motioned to the symbol at the bottom of the page. He squinted. “Isn’t that your birthmark, Chalice?” he asked. And it was. It was the mark of her birth and her pendant. Then, he read the name, pronouncing it awkwardly. “Chalicia Maefeline Raie’Chaelia D’Ielieria.” With an inquiring look, he asked: “What does that mean?”

  Staring down at the page in front of her with an expression of astonished incredulity, she spoke slowly. “It means,” she said as she glanced up and continued, the firelight dancing in her eyes, “Beautiful Chalice, True Princess of Ielieria.”

  The Raie'Chaelia

  What is this book? Chalice’s thoughts raced. Every child has a story … And the freedom to choose … The Raie’Chaelia. There had to be a logical explanation. A coincidence maybe? She deliberated furiously as to what it could be. Finally, she asked: “Are you sure this is just a book of stories, Jeremiah?”

  “Fairly sure. I mean, at least I was. What else could it be?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just an odd coincidence.” Her eyes met his and they reflected the same thought back to her. It made her recall all those times they would arrive at the same thought at the same time. More often than not, she could discern what he was thinking without a word being spoken. The years had not erased this familiarity that kindled the silent communication between them.

  He glanced back toward the book. “Hmm, sometimes I wonder if coincidences are really what they seem,” he said, scratching his chin. “You think this is talking about you, then?”

  “Well, no. I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t know. We don’t know who the author is or when it was written, right? So the only reasonable explanation I can think of is that this is either a mere coincidence or this last entry was written recently, that is, within the last eighteen years or so, sometime after I was born by someone who knows me …” She trailed off when she saw Jeremiah shaking his head.

  “No, Chalice, that’s not possible,” he said and she knew that he was right. He had an authority in his voice when he was sure of something. He gestured toward the Delphaline. “This book has been in my family since before I was born and it has never been edited. And I know that it’s the work of one author who lived a long time ago. That’s what my mother told me. She never said who authored it, though. That’s all I know about it.”

  She pulled away from his stare, straightened, and peered into the flames, thinking. “Okay, this is passing strange.” After pausing for a moment, she said: “Maybe it’s a namesake.”

  “A namesake that just happens to have your birthmark in it? I don’t think so. Here, what does the passage say?” he asked and bent low to get a closer glimpse of the writing.

  Chalice studied the page again and read the passage silently for a few moments. Then, she said: “The New Millennium translation is here, right next to the old one. It’s very good actually. It appears to have the same meaning and rhythm as the verse in Angaulic.” She read the verse aloud for him:

  Raie’Chaelia

  A fateful spirit’s time shall come,

  To be embodied as Fire’s Bane.

  Born of the blood by just one half,

  Hidden from forces that reign.

  A secret life and an open heart,

  Travels west from an ancient chain.

  Unveils the stones of knowledge lost,

  And returns Shae’Ielian to Quaine.

  She who is first, finishes last,

  For her life and death remain,

  The legend of the Raie’Chaelia,

  Beneath the fallen rain.

  Chalicia Maefeline Raie’Chaelia D’Ielieria

  “Let me see that book, Chalice,” he demanded, holding out his hand. She gave it to him and he studied it intently. “What is Shae’Ielian?”

  “That means the Rightful King. Why? What do you think the verse is talking about?”

  With a grave expression, he said: “I think that this is beyond coincidence and if I’m right, it means that you and I are in a lot of danger. It’s a good thing we are leaving. I don’t think the King found the thing he was looking for. In fact, I don’t think it’s a thing at all. I think it’s a person, and I think that person is you.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” she retorted, still determined to ignore what lay in the back of her mind.

  “Yeah, but Chalice, it says here, ‘Fire’s Bane’.”

  “So?”

  “So, what do you know about the King?”

  “Well … not much actually,” she admitted.

  “The King’s men call him the Fierain, which means the Fire, but his full name is Lucce’Fierain Dar’Maalda.

  “The Firelight of Maalda?” Chalice asked, recognizing the words in Angaulic.

  “Yes. This passage is saying that this spirit, born of the blood, will become Fire’s Bane and return the Rightful King. And it describes a secret life and an open heart. That fits you. You have lived a sheltered life. You’ve even complained about it yourself.” She scowled at him. “Well, you have and if this story is somehow telling the future and if he knows about it, it would make sense that he’d be looking for you. If it’s true, then everything falls into place — everyone’s disappearance, the silence of your grandparents about your family, the attack on Canton and your grandfather’s instructions.” He paused and then glanced back down at the book. “Could this book be what my father had to give you, I wonder?”

  She couldn’t believe it. This is just a story. It isn’t real.

  “It can’t be!” she protested stubbornly. “My grandparents aren’t related to the royal family. They are Naeon, not Terravailian. I have no royal blood in me. I’m sure of it.”

  “But you don’t know anything about the rest of your family, do you?” He turned to look into the fire. “Although, it is true that when the last King disappeared, all of his children were captured and imprisoned. I think they still are. So, yeah, that part doesn’t make sense … unless it’s referring to Davinthore …” He paused in thought and then turned to
her questioningly. “Do you know anything about the disappearance of the last King? Do you know why so many in the Realm call Dar’Maalda the Naie’Ielian?”

  “The False King?” she asked and he nodded. “I’ve heard people whisper it under their breath, but no, I don’t know the story. Papa didn’t allow us to talk about it. He said it was because he didn’t want to draw negative attention to our family’s business.”

  “I wonder,” he said, setting the book on the drink table and making his way back to the kitchen. “You want some hot cider? I have some ready.”

  “Yeah, thanks!”

  After a moment, he returned with two thick, steaming mugs. Placing hers next to the book and taking a seat in the other chair, he stretched out his feet and took a sip.

  “Alright, I’ll tell you what I know. Keep in mind, this is not from my own memory, but my father’s. I was around two years old at the time. According to Father, the Realm hasn’t always been the dark and fearful place that it is today. It rightfully belongs to the Ielierian, or the Royal Family, which is an unbroken family line that is old, almost ancient. Before Dar’Maalda seized power, the Realm existed in peace and harmony, or at least as close to it as anyone could get. The reason being that we lived under the rule of a good and just king. His name was Duquainois Bronaan D’Ielieria, or more commonly known as King Duquaine.”

  He paused for another sip and then continued: “Anyhow, it was around nineteen years ago that he suddenly disappeared and Dar’Maalda emerged as the new king. He isn’t the Rightful King, though. If Duquaine had died, the throne would have passed to his younger brother, Davinthore, the next in line of the Ielierian, but it didn’t. A great battle was fought, but Dar’Maalda and his army were too strong. They had a more powerful leader, better weapons, and were more skilled in the art of warfare. The Royal Legions, well, those still loyal to the Royal Family anyway, were crushed. The survivors retreated and haven’t been seen since.” Jeremiah rose to stoke the fire. “No one knows where they went, just as no one knows what happened to Duquaine. Some think he is still alive. Father told me that they are still searching for him in secret, though, because Duquaine is the only one who is strong enough to challenge Dar’Maalda, or so the story goes.”