What fools the lords and ladies of House Teradith and Dworebyn had been. For hundreds of years the two families had fought, taking the throne of Deep Cave from one another countless times. What did their conflict amount to in the end? All of them were probably dead now—buried under the rubble of their precious city.
Their tomb.
Kara had not noticed him slip the coin to the other woman. Such wealth would mean much to Kara, but to Aemon, a silver meant little. He had always thought his life had been hard. But to the common people of Deep Cave around him now, his life would seem one of unimaginable luxury and ease.
Still holding hands, he and Kara began to pass shrines built along the edge of the path. Some were carved from stone, and others forged from precious metals like gold, platinum and, favored of Lydan, silver.
Pilgrims passed through the crevice and left offerings around the shrines on their journey to the sacred places of Stelemia. Aemon wrinkled his nose. Some of the offerings were food, much of it in various stages of decay. Only the thick incense wafting from braziers filled with boiling, perfumed water spared his senses from the worst of the stench.
There were other offerings too. Slivers of metals, smatterings of coins and carved stone zhuk symbols lay scattered around the shrines.
Despite the unpleasant odor, Aemon breathed the air reverently. His feet treaded the very path the divines had taken on their journey to reclaim heaven. Religious dogma and mythology often brought out Aemon’s cynical streak; yet here, in the most holy of places, it had become easy to set skepticism aside and believe. If not for their current predicament, he would have left an offering and asked for divine blessing for their journey.
On his way past one shrine, Aemon decided to use his sight-counting skill to get a rough tally of the value of the offerings left before it. He widened his eyes. These offerings were worth at least one hundred silver. No wonder the officer at the gate had not wanted the peasantry entering the crevice. With such wealth lying around, how long before someone tried to steal some?
AEMON HEARD THE RIVER of the Gods before he saw it. The river that ran at the heart of the Stelemian faith. It started as a distant roar and grew louder with every step. Then the crevice grew colder, the air thick with moisture.
Further along the path, Aemon caught a fleeting glimpse of the swiftly flowing river through a gap in the crowd. Unable to contain his excitement, he let out a giggle. He had been waiting for this moment his entire life. No longer would the river be a place he knew only from books. Now he would see it with his own eyes!
But curse it all. His short stature made it difficult to see over the heads of the people in front. He tried to walk on his toes but it slowed his pace and the person behind him shoved him forward, cursing.
Kara squeezed his hand. “Aemon, what are you doing?”
“I want to see the river.”
Kara did not have the same problem he did. She stood six feet tall, half a head higher than the man in front of her. “I’ve never seen such beauty in my life,” she gasped. “It almost makes me forget the trouble I’m in.”
Her happiness eased his disappointment. If it allowed her to forget the danger they were in, even if for a moment, then he was content.
The man in front of Aemon shifted and a shorter woman took his place. Perhaps one of the divines had taken pity on him, for he could now see the river and the beauty surrounding it.
A dazzling display of crystals projected the light of countless candles and small sacred lights onto the moisture-slick walls of the crevice. The kaleidoscope of color reflected off the river, making it sparkle with a thousand different hues. Over a dozen large zhuk symbols carved into the shape of a healing beetle hung on wires from overhead railings, each beetle coated in phosphorescent bacteria to make it glow. Chiseled into the walls of the crevice were shallow nooks that contained other offerings, mostly forged figures of gold and silver in the likeness of the divines.
Aemon took a deep breath and savored it all.
Kara pointed at a crystal pillar, eyes wide with awe. “Aemon, look. It’s—”
“Wondrous,” he finished for her.
She nodded, the colored light reflecting in her eyes. By the divines, she was beautiful. Kara belonged in a place such as this.
As they continued their journey through the crevice, Aemon decided to share with her his knowledge of the river. “According to the ancient holy teachings of Radashan—first servant of Ibilirith and founder of Stelemia—the source of the River of the Gods is heaven. When it passes from the holy realm into the mortal one, it flows through rocky primordial channels of crystal cities and cascades down into Radashan Crevice through a black void in the roof. This creates a vast, roaring waterfall, two hundred feet high.” He gestured at the water flowing past. “Notice how clear it is?”
Kara licked her lips. “Looking at it makes me thirsty.”
“According to the healers at the city of Celestial Rest, it has curative properties. That is why they use it in their medicines and during their sacred rituals, where they drink it in honor of Roryur.”
She squeezed his hand again. “If I live through this, perhaps you can bring me back here and tell me everything you know about it.”
“I—” His words caught in his throat. “I would like that. Very much.”
Suddenly, Kara slipped on the wet path, and Aemon stopped her from falling. When she was steady on her feet again, she said, “I wish we could stop. My feet are starting to hurt. How long before we get to the temple?”
“I do not know.” His feet hurt too and carrying the bag of supplies had made the muscles in his shoulders ache. But worse than the pain was the fatigue. It had been the better part of a day since they had last slept.
They walked over an arched marble bridge and entered a large courtyard. Four statues ringed by a moat towered at its center. The water in the moat teemed with sightless fish brought there from the dark depths of Crystal Lake.
Aemon recognized the area from descriptions in his books. It was the Central Promenade where pilgrims came to prostrate themselves before the statue representations of the divines. A reverent hush fell over the peasants. None approached the statues but passed wide of them, as if they feared intruding upon the gods.
Aemon and Kara were finally able to break free from the mass of people, stopping to rub their feet and stretch their aching muscles. Even with everything that had happened, Aemon thought if he closed his eyes, he would slip off to sleep in seconds.
“How are you holding up?” he asked to keep his mind awake.
Kara yawned. “I’m alright, except for being crushed, shoved and pulled every which way.”
“And being chased,” he added with a wry grin.
“That too.”
Aemon scanned the people walking past. “We can stay here a few minutes; then we had better get moving.”
A man slipped on the arched bridge and barely managed to drag himself to the side of the road before he was crushed underfoot. “I expect the press of bodies is going to get worse once we reach the Rift,” Aemon said. “The path is built into the side of a bottomless chasm and there are no railings to stop people from falling into it.”
Kara pulled her hood low over her face. “I hope if Kahan comes this way, he falls off and dies.”
Aemon handed her some stale mushroom bread and tore off a chunk for himself. While he ate, he studied the twenty-foot-high statues of the Four Divines.
At the front was Lydan, the Shield of Heaven, who stood taller than the other three. According to the scriptures, he used his great shield to protect those who prayed to him. Beside him stood Roryur, the Healer, whose face was carved into a serene, contemplative expression. Roryur’s hands were cupped together and from them grew a clump of healing herbs.
It could have been a trick of the light, but her ageless sapphire eyes, dripping with moisture, seemed to look down at them and weep.
Behind Roryur and Lydan stood the twins, who were as different fro
m one another as water and stone. The female was the golden-haired Ibilirith, her metal bird companion perched on her shoulder. In her hands were repair tools, copper wires and a light bulb.
Next to Ibilirith stood her brother, Dwaycar, the Betrayer. Dressed head to toe in polished black tourmaline and armed with twin swords, his face—the half not hidden by a featureless mask—wore a contemptuous scowl.
According to legend, darkness, treachery and disdain were Dwaycar’s domain and the artificial lights of his sister’s creations were anathema to him. Long ago, after the War in Heaven, he was said to have betrayed his sister by seeking to purge the world of her technologies.
The divines had once been mortal children of the One God. In an age long past, they had ascended to heaven by climbing the side of Radashan Crevice. They had entered the hole where the River of the Gods flowed from and followed the river to heaven. Once there, they fought a great war against an ancient enemy who had driven out the One God from the blessed realm. The war was long and bitter, but in the end, the enemy was put to sleep and the four mortals became the Four Divines.
Kara studied the statue of Dwaycar. “He looks like...”
Aemon saw the similarity too. “Kahan. He looks like Kahan.”
“Do you think—” She looked at something over his shoulder, then quickly turned away. “They’re coming. We need to go.”
She grabbed Aemon and dragged him back into the passing crowd. He caught a glimpse of someone dressed in black on the arched bridge but the figure disappeared behind a man with a young girl sitting on his shoulders.
Was it Kahan, one of his followers, or just someone dressed in black?
The refugee column led them out of the Central Promenade and up a flight of stairs carved into the side of the crevice. The river, flowing to their left, had become a tumultuous series of whitewater rapids.
Once they reached the top of the stairs, the path continued to rise in a smooth incline. Even larger shrines than those below were erected along the side of the path, many with large mounds of offerings around them.
A fight broke out in front of them. People cursed one another, then someone threw a punch. All at once, it seemed as if everyone had gone mad. An all-out brawl started as the refugees fought one another, knocking over shrines and crushing offerings underfoot.
Aemon and Kara were pushed and shoved as those behind continued to press forward and those in front tried to back away from the combatants. Things quickly got out of hand and Aemon started to lose his grip on Kara. People plunged into the river and were swept down the rapids while others were knocked off their feet and trampled underfoot.
A sudden surge in the crowd tore Aemon and Kara apart. “Help,” Kara screamed as she was dragged away.
Struggling to fight his way through the press of bodies, Aemon almost knocked a mother and son off their feet. After making sure they were alright, he climbed onto a conical-shaped shrine to search for Kara. Someone with red hair was moving away from him back toward the stairs. It looked like Kara, but he could not be certain.
A chill went down his spine. What if Kahan were to find her?
Aemon had to do something before he lost sight of her!
Taking a deep breath, he leapt off the shrine into the river. The rapids swept him back toward the Central Promenade, and he grunted in pain as his foot struck a submerged stone.
Once he was parallel with the Central Promenade, he swam to the edge of the river and staggered back onto the path. He was dripping wet and the spare torches were likely ruined along with the precious books he had stuffed in the bottom of his bag. But none of that mattered.
He had to find Kara.
Frightened crowds of people stood around the promenade waiting for the fighting to cease. Aemon shoved his way through them and raced back up the stairs. The last of the crowd fled by him, leaving only a scattering of injured stragglers behind. Heart hammering in his ears and breath coming fast, he hurried up the last few steps.
He found Kara near the top of the stairs. She was on her knees and leaning against the wall, not far from the body of a disheveled man. Her cloak was gone, revealing an almost transparent orange gown that accentuated her curves and generous bust.
Aemon struggled not to gape at Kara’s body like a randy young fool. But her courtesan gown seemed designed to draw male attention. No wonder she had never taken off her cloak.
Cheeks burning, he raced up and took her in his arms. “You are alive,” he cried. He pulled away as she retched on the ground beside him. “Kara...”
She looked up at him, her fingers digging into his chest, her face drawn and dripping sweat. “He took it! He took it.” She retched again and said no more.
“Who took it?”
With one hand clasped over her mouth, she used the other to point toward the dead peasant.
Aemon approached the body cautiously. The man wore dark clothing but his face was turned the other way, making it impossible to tell if he wore a mask.
Kara let out a pained groan. Aemon glanced over his shoulder just as she toppled onto her side. He hesitated. Should he go back and help her?
Grimacing, he turned away. The only way to stop her from getting worse was to return the artifact to her. He had to go forward.
“Thieving swine,” Aemon snarled when he reached the body.
The man’s eyes were closed, his face splattered with blood and grime. No mask or javelins. Just an opportunistic thief. A bloody knife stuck out of his stomach with one of his hands clenched around it.
Had Kara done that?
Putting aside his reservations about touching a dead body, Aemon searched it. The peasant had nothing in his hands except the knife hilt, so Aemon tried his pockets. Nothing there either. Had Kara been wrong about who robbed her?
He shifted the dead man’s face and let out a sigh of relief. The artifact, now unlit, was around the man’s neck.
Aemon went to grab it but the peasant’s eyes fluttered open. Before he could pull away, the man growled like a dog and sank his teeth into Aemon’s arm.
In a frenzy of panic and unbearable pain, Aemon tore the knife from the peasant’s stomach and stabbed him in the neck with it. The man let go and rolled away cursing.
Deep, bloody teeth marks made Aemon’s arm throb all the way to the bone. Staggering to his feet, he kicked the man in the back and then snatched the artifact away from him. “You filthy animal,” he snapped and kicked the man again. Holding his bloody arm close, he turned and raced back to Kara.
She was not moving. Was he too late?
Aemon dropped to his knees beside her. Lifting her limp head, he put the artifact around her neck. As soon as it made contact with her, the red bulb flickered to life. He blinked. The light was far brighter than before. What had caused it to change?
He started shaking her. “Kara, wake up. I got the artifact back.”
Kara’s eyes remained closed.
His gut clenched. Was she dead? He felt for a pulse but found none. No, no... He rocked back on his knees. Think, Aemon. Think!
He tried to focus his mind but found it difficult to center himself. Hammering pain grated up his arm. His blood dripped unchecked onto the ground. Freezing water still seeped from his clothes. Kara was dying.
How could he focus with so much distraction?
“Lydan, oh Shield of Heaven, help me,” he prayed. “Help me think through this pain. I can save her. I know I can.”
The answer came to him suddenly. Something he had once read in a treatise on medicine. He wiped vomit from Kara’s lips, then laid her flat on her back and blew into her mouth.
Her lips were soft and moist and they stoked a fire in his heart. If only this were their first kiss and not an attempt to save her life. Removing his lips from hers, he used his hands to pump up and down on her chest.
When she did not wake, desperation began to set in. What should he do? The only thing he could think of was to keep blowing air into her lungs.
Just as his
hope had all but faded, Kara’s eyes fluttered open and she coughed and spluttered.
“You are alive!” he cried, never having felt so relieved in his life.
When she could, she looked up at him. “The artifact. You got it back.”
Aemon glanced back at the peasant. The man was on his knees, holding a bloody hand to his neck. “Yes, but you were unconscious when I put it back around your neck.”
“You kissed me.”
“I did not!” He wiped moisture from the back of his neck. “Well, not really. I was blowing air into your lungs to save your life.”
Kara gave him a weak smile and patted his cheek. “Thank you.” Then her eyes widened. “Your arm.”
He looked down at it, as if noticing it for the first time. “The thief bit me, but I will be fine.” Aemon used his sword to cut away a piece of his cloak, then wrapped it around his arm to stem the bleeding.
Kara slipped the artifact into her gown but the light shone through the thin material. “I’m not sure why it’s become so bright.” She scanned the path. “I wish I knew where my cloak went so I could cover it up.”
“What happened to it?”
“I don’t know. Someone tore it off me.”
Aemon got to his feet. “Can you stand?”
She got to her knees. “I’m a little shaky but I’ll be fine.”
With the fighting defused farther up the path, refugees cautiously started to make their way back up the stairs. Aemon helped Kara to her feet and she leaned on him as they rejoined the column. As they walked by the wounded thief, Kara scooped up her knife and kicked him in the leg.
A few hours later, an ear-splitting roar pervaded the crevice and the air filled with a fine mist that made droplets of water run into Aemon’s eyes. The moisture felt icy cold but refreshing. A pang of excitement eased the pain in Aemon’s arm. He was close. Close to the very place where the divines had climbed to heaven. The great waterfall that fed the river.
They rounded a corner and there it was. A colossal waterfall sweeping downward from a blackness even the glow of the sacred lights could not penetrate, only hold at bay.
Heir to a Lost Sun: A Caverns of Stelemia Novel Page 13