From Anastasia (The Anastasia Series Book 3)

by Jordi Burton

  Ryke put a hand on her shoulder. “He hasn’t been around any people till now.”

  It took Anastasia a moment to understand. She remembered what it had been like to feel all the emotions of those around her when she first ventured into town. It had been so overwhelming she’d fainted. Understanding, she, William, and Ryke gave Knowledgist Woodsman some distance and waited for him to recover. When he did, Anastasia joined him at the table.

  “Incredible,” he breathed. “And I thought the wings were impressive.”

  “Knowledgist Woodsman, what are you doing here?”

  “Please, call me Aleric.” He gave her a small smile. “I woke up a short distance from here and quickly found the library. I started studying everything about this place, trying to understand what happened. I didn’t know there was anyone else here.”

  “Gods and Angels,” Anastasia breathed.

  William frowned. “The city’s a short ways south of here. Your mother, wife, and daughter are there.”

  “And my son?”

  “Currently out searching for my family,” said Anastasia.

  Knowledgist Woodsman nodded, as if this made perfect sense. Anastasia studied him. He didn’t seem injured or malnourished. In fact, he was clean-shaven and well-rested. And he was studying the scroll as though he could read what was on it.

  “How long have you been here?”

  He considered her. “Oh, roughly seventy-two days.”

  Anastasia started. “Over two months?”

  When Aleric nodded, Anastasia felt like she’d been sucker punched. How was that even possible? She’d been the first to arrive in Bahail, and even that hadn’t even been a month ago. What had Joey’s spell done to them? And why? What was the purpose of sending people sporadically? And where had they all been during that time?

  Ryke nodded towards the scroll. “You can read the language.”

  “I spent my first week here learning how,” Aleric explained.

  Excitement bubbled in Anastasia’s chest. “Could you teach us? We’re trying to learn as much about this place as possible.”

  “Of course.”

  She slid into the seat across from him, while William and Ryke resumed their guarding positions. They spent a few moments sharing their goings on, Anastasia telling him of the meetings, and the feast, and the construction, while Aleric regaled her with fairy tales and fables he’d come across about monsters called Galaens. It seemed they were the precursors to the Shadows. They were described as demonic beasts with skin the color of the sky and eyes as white as the clouds. They could fly and were practically invisible when in the air.

  Then, they moved on to the language. It seemed it was spoken only by the Nadmilise. As it turned out, there was no common language amongst peoples as there was in the realms.

  By the time evening rolled around, Anastasia had learned basic vocabulary words. Aleric took them to the cabin he’d been staying in, offering them dinner. It was a quaint, homey place, with two bedrooms and a kitchen. Surprisingly, it had largely survived the test of time.

  “I believe the library’s caretaker and her family would’ve lived here,” Aleric explained.

  Anastasia glanced around. “It’s nice.”

  They ate in relative silence, eagerly dining on a stew Aleric had made of wild root vegetables and herbs from the garden in the backyard. Though simple, it was delicious.

  As they watched the sun set over the mountains in companionable quiet, Aleric glanced at her. “I think I discovered something of interest.” When Anastasia gave him a curious look, he explained, “There is a children’s tale of ancient beings with people that had the power to create worlds. At first I thought it was a simple version of the Gods and Angels.”

  “But now?”

  “Now I think they might’ve been about the Ancients.”

  Anastasia failed to keep the excitement off her face. “Why do you think so?”

  “Well, for starters, there were seven of them, not six. But they also had different powers, like the ability to withstand the powers of others.”

  “You think it could be true?”

  “It’s a children’s story, so it’s hard to tell.”

  She leaned forward. “Does it say how to find them?”

  He shook his head. “There was very little information, other than the story of them recreating the world.”

  Anastasia sat back. Why would there be a children’s story about the Ancients recreating the world? She thought back to the stories she’d heard as a child. Before they’d left Jacqueline, her grandmother used to tell her tales of warriors and princesses, which she now realized were to help with her premonitions. And when they’d been in the human realm, her mother had told her mythologies and creation stories of the realms.

  William seemed to be following her train of thought, for he said, “Are you sure it was a children’s story?”

  Knowledgist Woodsman raised an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?”

  “What if it was a history? Some seem juvenile, considering the lack of knowledge people had at the time. It could’ve been a recording of what the people knew of the Ancients.”

  Aleric considered this. “The Ancients have been rather mysterious, even in our time.”

  Hardly daring to believe the theory, Anastasia grinned. Maybe they’d finally found an answer. And once Mohan found the spell to unearth the Vatis, they’d be one step closer to getting back home. She couldn’t believe they were making progress; it had seemed like such an impossible task.

  “Tomorrow, we can return to the library and see what we find.”

  Anastasia frowned. “Aleric, why don’t you return to the city with us? I’m sure your family will be glad to see you.”

  He nodded. “Yes, of course!”

  Their return to Bahail was quick. Aleric’s reunion with his family was tearful, and Anastasia, Ryke, and William gave them their space; it felt wrong to intrude on their emotions.

  Shortly after William and Ryke escorted Anastasia home, she was in bed. But her mind just wouldn’t shut off. She kept turning the children’s story over and over in her mind, flush with exhilaration. It could be the key to everything they’d been looking for. She couldn’t believe she had to wait until the next day to find out.

  She woke from a dreamless sleep the next morning before dawn. After feeding and changing Aagney, and scarfing down some toast and jam, Anastasia and Mohan joined Aleric and Alex in town. Anastasia carried Mohan, and they flew to the library to resume their work. Anastasia worked on teaching Alex and Mohan everything Aleric had taught her of the Old Language, while Aleric searched the scrolls for more information.

  A flapping sound near the entrance drew their attention. Thinking it to be another Nadmilise, Anastasia braced herself. Ever ready, William and Ryke took up defensive positions. But, as it turned out, it was just a pigeon.

  It fluttered and cooed, bouncing around in the doorway. It looked like the same bird she’d shooed out of the castle the night she’d arrived. As she headed over to shoo it out once again, it flew to her arm. Cooing softly, it held out its small leg. A scroll, no bigger than her pinky finger, was tied around its foot.

  As soon as she took it, the pigeon flew up to the shattered dome where it sat, watching them with dark eyes.

  “Is that a letter?” Aleric questioned.

  Unrolling it, Anastasia found a seal she didn’t recognize. “It seems like it.”

  Returning to the table, she sat between Mohan and Alex and opened the letter. The writing inside, written in the Old Language, had nearly faded completely, the paper crumpling beneath her hands.

  She handed it to Aleric. “Can you read it?”

  “I can certainly try.” Glancing at the paper, he read, “‘Anastasia, the vision you saw is coming true. You need to round up the Ancients and do what you can to leave this place. The pendants are your only hope, now. But, alas, they might also be your downfall. This is all just the beginning.’”

  Anastasia frow
ned. At the mention of pendants, plural, she couldn’t help but think of the premonition she’d had back in Sehir, when she’d been thinking of William: As one, the doppelgangers grab their pendants and smash them. The beautiful stones shatter, sending flecks of colored gemstone skittering across the floor. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?

  “Do they mean you?” Alex asked Anastasia.

  Mohan shook his head. “Couldn’t be. This letter is easily a thousand years old.”

  “They must be writing to Anastasia Futurebringer,” Anastasia said. “My namesake.”

  Ryke frowned. “Does that say visions?”

  “It could be vision, or dream, or story,” Aleric said. “I am not entirely sure.”

  Anastasia turned away. Someone had written to her ancestor about the Ancients. Anastasia Futurebringer had told someone of the premonitions, someone who was warning her to heed them. It seemed everything nowadays led them back to the Ancients.

  She looked up. “Who wrote the letter?”

  “It says, ‘From Anastasia’.”

  Shock flooded through Anastasia, but she quickly tamped it down. There were no other Anastasias in Nadmilise history. She knew that for a fact, having studied the names of the Queens her whole life. So, either Anastasia Futurebringer was crazy and writing to herself—which she sincerely doubted, seeing as her parents would never name her after a nutcase—or this was somehow connected to her.

  Still, to be sure, she needed to find out more about her namesake.

  “I think we’re overlooking the obvious,” said Ryke. “We can use the pigeons to communicate.”

  “Homing pigeons can only travel to one destination,” said Aleric. “In ancient times, pigeons were transported in a cage to a destination, tied with messages, and then released to find their way home. This must be where the pigeon originated.”

  Anastasia’s hopes fell. “So we can’t find where the bird came from?”

  “Afraid not.”

  Anastasia frowned. Maybe Anastasia Futurebringer had seen a premonition of her arrival in the library, and sent her a letter? But how could that pigeon have survived all that time? Surely it would’ve died in the thousands of years since the Old World? Then she remembered the strange way time had operated since their arrival. Maybe time worked differently here.

  “What is our next move, love?” Mohan questioned.

  “We need to focus on learning the Old Language, so we can sort out the business about the Ancients. Our primary goal is getting back to Sehir.”

  Alex furrowed her brow. “But the letter—”

  “Is meaningless right now.”

  Turning, she resumed memorizing vocabulary words. The others quickly followed her lead, having no real connection to the letter as Anastasia did. But William could tell. He hovered near her, radiating worry. She felt like snapping at him, but knew it wouldn’t do anyone any good.

  Growing frustrated, she pushed back from the table and studied the family trees she’d discovered on one of the shelves. There was one for each of the Sehirian ancient families, and she wondered again what their importance was in this time. Perhaps it was simply because they were gentry? Or did it have to do with their careers? Which sent her down a rabbit hole of wondering about the culture in Bahail, and if the Nadmilise of the time got tattoos like in Sehir.

  What drew her attention back to William’s family tree, however, were the stars next to some of the names. There weren’t any keys to tell her what the stars stood for, but she imagined it was some sort of special award—most of William’s ancestors had been warriors. Curious, she studied the other trees. Except for the Woodsman and Piliar family trees having similar stars next to some of their names, there was nothing. It was exceedingly frustrating, being blocked at every turn. All she wanted was to find a way to bring her people home.

  She found herself wishing more and more that her mother was there. She knew Anarose would know exactly what to do in this situation. Alas, it was just the six of them and little Aagney, slowly combing their way through the scrolls.

  She only hoped the search parties were having better luck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  O stana slowed her pace, wiping the sweat from her brow. The kerchief one of the Nadmilise girls she was traveling with had given her was already soaked through. Ever since she’d woken that morning, she’d felt off, almost like a sickness. Which would just be perfect. Not only was she trapped in this prison of a world, unable to have a relationship with her fiancé and son, but she couldn’t shift into a wolf. And now, to top it all off, she was getting sick.

  She was mildly concerned, considering there were no jhakris here to care for her. And she wasn’t sure how much her anatomy had changed since their arrival. Was she now… human? The thought revolted her. She’d always prided herself on the power that coursed through her as a wolf. Without it, she felt like a shell of who she used to be, made worse by the absence of the people she loved most.

  Turning her face to the sky, she breathed deep. The scent of the sea raised her hackles. She’d hoped going off on a search for the High Council would’ve proven a decent distraction from her current problems. But, instead, it only made her more and more irritable.

  The kingdom they were in—Irichat gol Dhaiten, according to the map—rose up from the sea on a high cliff, bringing with it the sounds of crashing waves and crying seagulls. Both of which were not pleasant to the headache pounding at Ostana’s temples. She closed her eyes and tried to focus her breathing, but the cries felt like needles piercing her eardrums, and the cool sea breeze made gooseflesh erupt across her heated skin.

  “Oh!” one of her travel partners exclaimed. “Olives!”

  Ostana opened her eyes and glared at the young blonde woman as she flounced over to a neighboring tree. Her sister, equally as blonde and loud, joined her.

  While they fawned over the olive tree, Ostana made her way to the top of the hill. At the crest, she looked down at the town nestled at the bottom. There were towering columned structures interspersed with lush greenery. Nearly everything was under construction, with groups of people looking to restore the once-beautiful city.

  Ostana frowned as she watched them. She was a Crown Princess, and the future Queen of Viire. And where was she? Off on a quest, trekking through dusty towns. By the Gods, this was pathetic. And yet, she had nothing else to do.

  Without a backward glance at the blonde sisters behind her, Ostana started the descent into town. The people on the outside of the wall surrounding the city shot her curious looks as she passed them, but then quickly looked away. At first, she figured it was her dress—she still wore the gown from Bahail, in ancient Nadmilise styles. But they weren’t staring at her long enough for that to be the case. There was something strange about the them. While they talked, it was quiet, somber. There weren’t any children darting around; there was no laughter. What in the world was this place?

  But then she reached the entrance to the city, and all curiosity left her mind. A line of armed guards blocked her path, dressed in short, dress-like chitons, with thick shawl-like chlamyses wrapped around their shoulders. Everything was hemmed with sky-blue cloth embroidered with small lightning bolts. It matched the sigils branded on their shields. They all brandished spears.

  “Who goes there?” one of the men called.

  Ostana pursed her lips, considering. Should she tell them the truth of who she was? There was no telling what the politics were like in these towns. Sure, Bahail had voted to keep Anastasia and the monarchy in power, but that didn’t mean the other kingdoms would’ve done the same.

  But then the blonde sisters stepped up beside Ostana and made the decision for her.

  “I’m Ayvery Tomlin,” the elder blonde said. “This is my sister, Alviva, and the princess Ostana Moneth. We have come on behalf of Crown Princess Anastasia Piliar Moneth, on a search for the High Council of the realms.”

  So much for anonymity. Ostana watched the guards carefully. They didn’t see
m eager to cut them down, which was good. They shared a glance, before one of the guards broke off from the pack and raced into town. The rest of the guard split down the middle, opening the way into the city. As Ostana and the sisters stepped forward, one of the guards inclined his head.

  “I am Doro. I will be your guide through Pasilikí, the royal city.”

  As they stepped through the guards, Ostana studied the young man. He was younger than she, but not by much. Going by the look of their clothes, and their overall appearances, Ostana figured they were demigods. Great.

  “So,” Ayvery asked. “What’s it like here in Pasilikí?”

  Doro frowned. “It is very different from home.”

  He didn’t elaborate, even when prompted. Instead, he took to pointing out parts of the town as they passed. There were the two large temples of Zeus and Hera, towering structures at least ten people high, with crumbling columns and steepled roofs. Ten other, smaller temples sat throughout the city, dedicated to the rest of the twelve Olympians. People moved in and out of them, carrying baskets of food and drink—offerings to the Gods, as Doro explained.

  Then there was the sacrificial altar of Hera, a smaller building held aloft by statues of a beautiful woman. Within, sat a stone slab carved with a cow, lion, and peacock. Blood dripped over it, from the neck of a sacrificed animal.

  Down the road sat two gymnasiums, which were really nothing more than fields of dirt enclosed by more columns. Ostana could hear people yelling within, but Doro led them in the opposite direction.

  They moved through the marketplace, where people sold honeyed figs, and olives, and sweet grapes, and breads, and cheeses, and dried salted fish, and stewed beans. Ostana’s stomach rumbled, but they didn’t stop. Doro led them to the other side of town, where an immaculate palace was built atop a cliff. Hundreds of stairs led up to a columned entrance, complete with shimmering tiled roofs.

  “What is this place?” Ostana asked.

  Doro didn’t look at her as he replied, “The Royal Palace.”

  Three mules sat at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for them. Doro motioned for them each to take one, so they wouldn’t have to walk the stairs.