Ashar'an Rising (Nexus Wars Saga)

by Robert Day

  “Close your eyes, Andrak!”

  Perthanis’ whispered words came to him with the clarity of dulcet chimes, resounding through his mind like the wind through a vast maze of underground passages. He could feel the inflection and tone of each of the Elf’s sounds, so the normally song like accent of the Elves sounded alien yet fitting.

  A myriad of sensations flooded him with the loss of vision, which gave more freedom and purpose to the other senses. He could hear and feel the combined breathing of both he and the Elves, along with the minute rustling of clothing it perpetuated. The crackling of the fire came and went like a storm as he felt his perceptions expand, delighting in the aura of awareness that encompassed him.

  The faint wind outside, barely enough to stir a hair or shift a leaf, sounded gale like, while the near silent chattering of the wildlife could well have suited the chorus of a gathering of giants. Small birds mimicked dragon kind as they flitted from branch to branch, and what might have been a lizard or snake burrowing through loose foliage could have been a giant wading through a forest, shifting great trees with its passage.

  “Concentrate on Kitara. Let your mind seek hers!”

  The words of the Elf sounded distant, though still as dulcet and crystalline as before, a result of his shifting perception. He wondered if he would be able to still hear the Elf if his perception was far away, but shook it off as the words brought back to him a measure of urgency. All the dangers the Elf had spoken of resurfaced after having been swept away with his newfound awareness.

  As he focused, images began to come to him, not dream like images, but brief pictures of happenings and occasions, such as a rider surrounded by flat, dusty plains; or a dark glade where shapes sprang from shadow and the very light looked as if it were being slowly consumed. First they came slowly, but then they came faster and sometimes repeating, until he flicked through them like he would a tome, bending the pages so they fell with the shifting of his thumb down the edge. Not only were the images life like, but there came with them other senses such as heat when picturing the rider on the plains, or the smell of the ocean as a sun lit mansion came and went.

  “Focus on the link, Andrak. Feel your sister.” Even more distant again were the Elf’s words, but like a beacon they reached him through the now flashing images. As if drowning, he clutched for the vocal lifeline, searching and straining for the shore and air, which was now his sister’s aura.

  He conjured up images of Kitara, remembering the sway of her hair or the scent of her favorite perfume, and then there came the memories they had shared during childhood. These mingled with the other flashing images, yet there was a sifting of those that repeated regularly, until finally there were only three.

  One was of the mansion bathed in light and smelling of the ocean, the sun descending across the waters littered with the skeletal masts of ships. Another was a room; a library, books arrayed on many shelves and tables, while the smell of the ocean was present again, though faint. The third was of a dark city nestled deep within towering mountains, the sounds of combat drifting to Andrak as he tried to draw closer, but it was as if something prevented him from drawing near. Each time the image came, he strained to pierce this barrier, as some other tangible aura beckoned him closer. He could not distinguish this tugging, the barrier masking its nature, but he knew it was important. Another such beckoning pulled at his awareness as the images flashed past, but so determined was he to penetrate this mystical barrier, it took some time before he realized it was the voice of Perthanis, calling to him, but his desire to break through to find the source behind this barrier prevented him from heeding what the Elf was saying. Only when another voice penetrated his awareness did he realize what was happening.

  “Wake him, Grandfather, or I will!”

  “I cannot, Janantar, as you well know. It takes a conscious effort on his behalf to break free of the reverie, or his mind will think it part of the imagery, and he will be forever lost.”

  The voices were like drifting winds, their urgency not lost but the volume weakened through extensive travel. They clung to Andrak, however, as his mind continued to work on breaking down the barrier, but even as he divided his consciousness between the words and the task, he felt both slipping away like sand running through his fingers. He grasped desperately at each, but knew he could not juggle both. For eons he seemed to weigh both, but then the awareness he had felt, constrained by the barrier, broke free to meet him, and he was forced to flail at the fleeting voices as understanding returned to him. His eyes opened to a hazed view of two figures looming over him, while a vile taste burned his tongue and throat.

  “Welcome back, Andrak. Rest now, and we will talk later.” The voice was familiar, maybe belonging to Perthanis, but the effort needed to distinguish it amongst his memories was too much as the image faded before him, and this time darkness encompassed him, without the flashing images and overwhelming senses, and he slept.

  Chapter 24

  Andrak stirred to the sweet aroma of cooked food and soft conversation, but when his eyes opened it took him a moment of panicked orientation to get his bearings. With the Reverie still affecting his senses, it took a few moments for his vision to clear, and he looked upon the interior of Perthanis’ hut.

  Or at least he assumed it was Perthanis’ hut. No longer did the haze of smoke permeate the room, while the degree of clutter seemed to have dissipated slightly. Dim light came from lanterns hung from bronze brackets on the walls, allowing him to see he was lain out beneath one of the tables, on a thin mattress of what felt like feather. Perthanis and Janantar sat around a knee high table near the fireplace in the center of the room, eating and speaking softly in their tongue. Both became aware of Andrak as he stretched wearily, still struggling to come to terms with what had happened to him. Images still floated in his subconscious, and he was sure there were things he had already forgotten, much like a dream.

  “You had us worried there for a moment, son of Dhoric,” smiled Perthanis. The old Elf looked sprightlier than Andrak remembered, and even Janantar seemed more at ease with the eccentric Elf. “Come and eat, and then we might be able to sort through what you remember of the Reverie to see if we were successful in locating your sister.”

  “She is in Sha’kar!”

  Perthanis exchanged a quizzical look at Janantar to see if he had missed something, but the Bladesinger merely shrugged.

  “How do you know this?”

  “She told me,” assured Andrak. He threw them both a hard look to say he was not joking, before taking up a proffered slice of herb bread and endeavoring a bite.

  “Tell me about it!” ordered Perthanis, sounding more than a little chagrined by Andrak’s revelation. Obviously the old Elf had not expected the answer to have been so easily discovered within the Reverie.

  And so Andrak began to relate what he remembered of the Reverie, albeit haltingly as he tried to recall bits and pieces, as well as fit in those bits that came back to him in afterthought. He spoke mostly of the three recurring images, especially the one with the barrier he had tried to penetrate.

  “It was warded, though I have not heard of such a thing before,” Perthanis mused, seeming both stunned and excited by the news. “It is possible, but I had never expected such a thing to happen.” He was silent for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “And you say you tried to break through the barrier, then your sister spoke to you?”

  Andrak nodded. “I was straining to break through this ‘ward’ as you call it, at the same time you and Janantar were trying to call me back. It was then that something came from within the image, easily slipping through the ward, and I recognized the thoughts of Kitara. ‘Sha’kar! Help me!’ were her words.”

  “Are you sure it was her, though?” asked Perthanis, obviously concerned with whatever lay behind this Ward. “You have some knowledge of what you face, as has Janantar now, but there are those who would see you dead for even being mentioned in the prophecies of the Kay'taari. Such
a devious trap this might be, that your doom will be the result if you are wrong.”

  “I am certain,” assured Andrak, partaking of more of the food before him, but keeping his eyes fixed on Perthanis. “Do not ask me how, but I know it was Kitara, and she is in grave danger.”

  “Then you must make all haste to Sha’kar. I suggest a Sal’Karathan.”

  At this, Janantar gave a start. “But all of the gems have long since been depleted, Perthanis. Without them, the boats are nothing more than normal vessels, and we can travel faster by horse or even on foot.”

  “Not so, Janantar. Behold!” After a moment of searching (it seemed to Andrak the old Elf made a show of searching through his clutter, but he guessed the Elf knew exactly where what he was looking for was located), Perthanis returned with a square wooden box, dark of hue and bound with silver. The lid slipped free as Perthanis set it on the table and dipping his hands inside, withdrew them holding a softly glowing gem the size of Andrak’s fist. Both Andrak and Janantar gave a gasp, for different reasons, for Andrak marveled at its beauty and obvious worth, though he had never seen such a gem. It was faceted, and at first inspection may have looked like a diamond, except its depths held a kaleidoscope of colors that shifted with each movement of the gem.

  “You acquire many things in my profession, and this is one I had always reasoned would come in useful one day.” Placing it back in the box, Perthanis handed the box to Janantar who held it as he might a child. Then he rose again while Janantar set the box in his pack and Andrak continued to eat, finding he was extremely hungry, though his tiredness was passing quickly. This time when the Elf returned, he carried a light sack. He handed this across to Andrak.

  “Provisions and some other things of use in your trip. Keep in mind what you face, and if you remember one thing in the days to come, let it be that you are both important to what happens, so be careful. Only you can guide yourself to your destinies.”

  A solemn silence descended on the three while Andrak hastily finished eating. When he was done, Janantar motioned for them to be going, and Perthanis escorted them to the doorway.

  “There is still time to leave, Perthanis. The others have ventured south, and you should easily catch them if you desire. You know the darkspawn will come to destroy the city if they are not repelled.”

  “Fear not for my old bones, Janantar. I have a few surprises that will come in handy if such a thing happens. Just you concern yourself with what I spoke of before, for on your fate lies more than on mine.”

  “Thank you, Perthanis.” Andrak grasped the old Elf’s hand in farewell and thanks as he followed Janantar from the hut. “I owe you more than you could know. My sister is my life.”

  “Just do what you must, Lion son, and if ever you hear from Ka’Varel, tell him I long for our old discussions.”

  “I will,” assured Andrak, breaking away from the old Elf’s sorrowful stare and stepping from the hut. Neither he nor Janantar looked back or said anything until the hut was far behind.

  “We must head South west for the coast,” instructed Janantar, skirting the boundaries of the Elf city. “We should make it there tomorrow some time, depending on our speed, and from there we can use one of our Elfships to go south. We can berth somewhere on the Dak’mar coast and head east to Sha’kar. Hopefully the trip will take only half as long as it would by land.”

  There was only little mentioned of the Elvin histories relating to the Elfships, and time had warped these to show them as legendary crafts of great magic, used to bring the Elves across the oceans from the lands of their creation. As such, Andrak had an altogether different perception of the Elfship when he and Janantar made it to a shallow glade near the ocean. The occasional chatter of gulls’ overhead mingled with the low growling of the distant surf.

  The glade was bowl shaped, the land itself carved as if from giant hands rather than time and the elements. A sharp slope faced the setting sun above the low treetops at the ocean side of the glade, the sparse foliage allowing a vague view of the water and expanses of glittering golden sand.

  It was up this steep slope that Janantar led Andrak. Both were tired from the endless jog through the night and for the length of the morning, stopping only for a brief rest where food and drink were taken. Janantar had pushed Andrak over the most grueling areas and through the long hours, the Bladesinger urging him onward with encouraging words. As they ran, however, Andrak saw the disturbed Elf glancing back constantly to the North east where both the Elf City and the ‘Glade’ lay. Depending on the speed of the Elvin warriors, the battle with the Demons would soon be started, if not already.

  Had he been a harmless wanderer, Andrak would have passed by the doorway Janantar pointed out in the center of the steep slope. It was at a section of rock, rising even sharper than the gradient, but Janantar motioned for Andrak to halt, which he did in confusion. The Elf had mentioned the Elfships were secreted away in a cavern, but he had not assumed the entry to be set in the side of this steep glade.

  The circular stone Portal shifted inwards with an echoing groaning that made Andrak wonder how long the chamber had been closed. It must have been through some magical means the door moved, or through the use of cunning rails and ropes, for the Elf seemed barely to lean on the huge slab. A rain of small rocks was loosed from above, falling with a billowing of dust as light filtered through to the dark interior, but Janantar pushed into the darkness after barely a pause.

  “Wait here, Andrak. This chamber is a sacred hall of our people. Even under the circumstances I cannot allow you entry without the express permission of the Elders.”

  “I understand,” assured Andrak, trying to peer into the gloom after the Elf, though he could pick out nothing after a few feet of stone. Whatever legacy lay within the darkness of the chamber would remain the secret of Elvin eyes.

  After some time, during which Andrak became increasingly concerned for the Bladesinger, a shuffling alerted him that something was coming out, and he bit off a startled cry as a white form pierced the dark veil. His hand went to the hilt of his sword as he scrambled to face this mysterious enemy, but then he recognized the thing for what it was.

  The Elfship was more slender than he expected, barely two paces across, though it was longer than four spans. The hull was crafted so that it was flat in the center, with two expanded sections like canoes along either side, curved to meet at the pointed bow. A canopy of thin blue canvas covered the rear of the central area with rolled flaps for extra protection or privacy, the frame constructed of what appeared to be marble posts four feet high. Beneath the canopy was a section of padding and covers that must have been a resting area, and behind it sat a flat bench at the stern. In front of the bench was a pyramid shaped frame of smooth crystal on another marble post, its tip removed to show a hollow in which rested the gem Perthanis had given Janantar, glowing refulgent even in the sunlight. Behind the bench, a slender wooden arm provided for movement of the rudder.

  What surprised Andrak was there was nothing holding the boat as it floated through the dark doorway. Half a hand above the ground it floated, as if already on an unseen ocean. Behind it came Janantar, one hand placed on the smooth hull to propel the craft forward. Once the craft was clear of the cavern, he braced himself to stop the ship before pulling the heavy door closed. The great slab swung easily with the slightest of pulls, yet slapped home with a resounding boom that loosed more stones from the sharp slope.

  “There are others of greater size,” informed Janantar as he took hold of the Elfship to guide it down the slope. By rights, the heavy craft should have pulled the Elf down the slope with it, but it stayed in his grasp as if it weighed nothing.

  Finding a navigable route through the trees was not so hard, as the forest thinned decidedly here near the coast, and soon the craft was settling above the white water of the flat coastline. Small waves created some difficulty getting into the craft, but once Andrak was inside, Janantar pushed the craft across the breakers. Once the cra
ft was beyond the whitewater, the Elf pulled himself nimbly onto the deck, barely causing the craft to list from the weight.

  Andrak stowed their gear inside a small closet beneath the canopied area, while Janantar took a seat behind the gem.

  “The Elfship can be guided with more conventional means,” he indicated the raised rudder behind him, “or it can be guided through the Gem.” So saying, he placed a hand on the gem, at which time the craft started to swing to the south before settling on a path parallel to the coastline, a hundred yards from the breaking surf but well out of harms way. It even began to pick up more speed, so that soon a rider on the beach would have been hard pressed to keep up.

  “How fast can it go?” asked Andrak curiously. As a child he had known the magicians of the castle who were advisers to his father, but he had little experience in things magical. Such concepts and phenomena interested him, even more so after the past few days in the magical Elvin City.

  “Faster than any horse and more. How much so I cannot say, but it would depend on the power of the user. Those whose kenja is strong have been known to be great masters of the crafts. I only hope I can keep a steady pace and course so we can make up for lost time.”

  “I’m sure you can,” confided Andrak with a look southward. He did not need to say what would happen if they could not make good time, both knowing what peril lay not only in the threat of demon kind behind, but fate ahead.

  Loping easily at the fore of the Elvin War-Party, Solantholas tried not to let the others see his trepidation. As Guardian of the Sylvaen he had trained centuries for such a day as this, even yearned for it on many occasions in the past when he had little desire to continue living, and now that the time was upon him, he could only shudder with fear. Not of dying, though he knew such was likely, but for the eight hundred others of his people who trailed him, all friends and advisers, some family.