by Aaron Hodges
She closed her fist, reaching out with her mind for those ancient powers, seeking to wake them, to bring them forth for the first time in centuries. This was her purpose, the reason she had been drawn to these ancient places, to a lifetime dedicated to the study of the Gods…
Nothing happened.
Her heartbeat slowed and finally she opened her eyes, an exhaled breath whistling between her teeth. She turned her hand over, examining the gauntlet, but nothing had changed. Her elation subsided, the thrill of just moments before fading away. It was no more than an ordinary glove. Perhaps this had been the height of fashion for those who had lived alongside the Gods. A revelation of great interest to scholars like Ibran, no doubt, but for her…
Erika’s face warmed as she felt the eyes of her assistants upon her. Clenching her fists at her sides, she continued her inspection of the chamber, though she still sensed their mirth. She forced her mind back to that of a scholar. Magic or no, this was still a great discovery. Those crystals…how long would their light remain? Perhaps they could remove them from the walls, to show the queen that her expedition had not been entirely in vain.
Then her eyes alighted on a picture that had been plastered to the wall. She hadn’t noticed it at first, so engrossed had she been in the crystal lights and the gauntlet. Something about the decoration caught her eye now. She took a step closer, frowning. It looked so familiar…
A gasp slipped from her throat as she realised what it was.
“It’s a map,” she murmured.
The map was so detailed and colourful, she hadn’t recognised it at first. Now its true nature practically leapt at her. There was the northern archipelago of Perfugia, and there the Mountains of the Gods, the southern coasts of Calafe. And so much more.
Reverently, Erika stretched out a hand and touched the map. She was surprised to find it was paper—how had such a delicate thing survived all this time? The steel door had truly sealed off this chamber from the world, from time itself, it seemed.
Her eyes continued to roam the lands depicted by the map, making connections. Dots labelled in the language of the ancients must have indicated cities. Erika was not surprised to see many corresponded with modern-day towns and cities—no doubt the benefits of their locations had not changed through the centuries. Several, though, were wastelands today, others the sites of mining extractions.
Footsteps sounded as her assistants approached, but Erika did not take her eyes from the precious paper. There was something else here, something important. Several locations had been marked with stars rather than dots and had not been labelled. They didn’t seem to correspond with any modern cities, nor any significant feature that might have proven an advantage for a settlement…
The breath caught in her throat as the pattern clicked into place. Surely it couldn’t be so simple? Quickly she tracked the distances, trying to judge the scale, to be sure. Yes, there was the site on the peninsula west of Mildeth. And there was the one in the foothills of the mountains…
“It shows the ancient sites,” she whispered. “The hidden places of the Gods.”
“Truly?” Ibran gasped, stepping up beside her. “That—”
Erika was barely listening to him, so engrossed was she in the map. It didn’t only show those sites they’d visited in Flumeer—it revealed all of them! They dotted the landscape, many matching sites already known to the Archivists, others that had yet been identified. Her heart throbbed, sending blood rushing to her temples.
If those sites had remained undiscovered all this time, if they were sealed as this chamber had been…who knew what treasures they might have preserved?
Then a frown touched her lips as she noticed an absence. Of the dozen or so stars on the map, only three were located in Flumeer. The three they had already visited…
Thump.
Erika jumped as something heavy struck the ground. She swung on Ibran, ready to reprimand him for his carelessness, but the words died on her lips. Her assistant lay facedown on the floor, blood oozing from an awful wound in his neck. A scream built in her throat, her sluggish mind trying to put the pieces together, to understand how he had come to be there…
…her eyes fell on the bloody dagger clutched in Sythe’s hand.
“What did you do?” she hissed.
“Step ‘way from the map,” the man said calmly.
Ice spread through Erika’s veins. His voice had changed, losing the western tang of the Flumeeren people. He sounded almost…
“I said, step away,” Sythe repeated, voice deepening to a growl. He took a step towards her, dagger poised to strike.
Instinctively, Erika tried to back away, but the table brought her up short. It took a moment for his words to register. They sent a shudder down her spine. Step away from the most important finding of her career, a map to all the secret places of the Gods? Even if there were no other sites in Flumeer, the discovery was a priceless treasure.
Scanning her surroundings, Erika searched for a way to fight back. The chamber was only ten by ten feet and Sythe was a big man, easily twice her size, and the knife in his hand was almost two foot long. Any plan that resulted in physical conflict would not go her way. But that didn’t mean she would surrender her prize without resistance.
“Stay back!” she hissed.
Her eyes flickered to the ruined door, but even if she could grab the map and make it past Sythe, she would never make it through the gap before he caught her.
A smile touched Sythe’s face, as though he could read her thoughts. “Hey,” he murmured, lowering the point of his knife half an inch. “No need for ya to join ‘im, ay?” He gestured to Ibran. A pool of blood was already beginning to form beneath the man.
Erika shook her head, adopting the manner of a terrified youth. It didn’t take much to be convincing—the blood dripping from Sythe’s knife was enough to drive her to the edge of panic. This couldn’t be happening.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
Sythe’s lips drew back, revealing yellowed teeth. “The King pays well for secrets.”
“The king?” Erika said, momentarily confused, before the man’s accent clicked into place. “Gemaho!” she gasped.
She hadn’t heard the accent often as a child, when visitors had dined with her father. But that had been before the war, before she’d fled with her mother; she hadn’t heard the accent in years now. Gemaho had broken the war pact when the allied expedition south of the Agzor Fortress had failed. Afterwards, they had retreated within their borders and barred entrance to all foreigners. Sythe—if that was even his true name—only laughed in confirmation of her suspicions.
“What interest does the King of the West have in my work?” she asked, trying to regain the initiative. Maybe if she could negotiate…
Sythe laughed. “New age is approaching, Archivist,” he rasped, accents mixing. “Kingdoms are doomed, without’a new weapon. Or an old one. Whichever kingdom uncovers the magic of the Gods, will rule the world.”
“That’s insanity!” Erika gasped. “The kingdoms stand united—”
“Ha!” Sythe interrupted. “’ought you were smart. Wars comin’, one the king ain’t intending to lose.”
“But—”
“Enough,” Sythe barked. He swung the dagger in a lazy arc.
“No!” Erika screamed, flinching against the table and thrusting out her gauntleted hand to fend off the blow.
The attack had only been a warning, but now Sythe’s face darkened and he raised the blade high. Erika was sure she had only seconds left. Frustration burned in her soul. So much time, an entire life, wasted on the study of the Gods, and for what? To have someone else snatch away the prize at her moment of victory?
But as the blow swept towards her, Sythe stumbled, and the swing of his dagger fell short. A frown appeared on the assassin’s unshaven cheeks and he shook his head, as though to dislodge something in his ears. It seemed to work, and he straightened—but only for a moment.
&n
bsp; A scream tore from his throat as he staggered back, the dagger slipping from limp fingers. Hand still outstretched, Erika watched as the blade clattered harmlessly to the stone floor. Another cry came from Sythe as he crashed into the table, upending it on the floor. His screams turned to an awful gurgling as he slumped to his knees. Wild eyes, red with blood, swivelled in his skull, finding Erika standing frozen in place. He stretched out a hand, lips moving, trying to make sounds.
“Pleas—” he managed, as though the word had to be clawed from his throat.
Erika gaped as his face began to change. Blood seeped from his eyes and ears, leaving trails of red down his cheeks and neck. Another groan hissed from the man’s throat as gore burst from his lips, splattering the stones between him and where Ibran lay dead.
Slowly Erika’s horror turned to fascination. Her eyes moved from the Gemahan assassin to the gauntlet. This had to be its doing. Indeed, while unwatched, it had changed. Goosebumps tingled across her hand and she realised with a touch of fear that the fine wires had somehow become entwined with her flesh. Warmth spread through her hand and up her arm as a glow began in the unknown metal, like that of the crystals in the walls, but darker, more threatening.
Deadly.
Curious, Erika closed her fist. Immediately the light died. A sharp inhale from where Sythe had collapsed to the floor confirmed the traitor still lived, though he made no move to recover his dagger or feet. Soft sobs tore from the man’s throat, and Erika wondered what style of agony could inspire such relief at its departure.
Heart pounding in her ears, Erika looked again at the gauntlet. She swallowed. God magic. She had hoped for this, prayed for it night and day since childhood. Now, though…she found herself wondering. What cost might this magic extract?
“Archivist?”
The faintest of whispers came from the assassin. He had not moved from where he lay, but now she saw his eyes moving, the bloody irises moving back and forth. Horror touched her and she forced herself to look away. She couldn’t dwell on what her newfound power had done. There would be time for that later. For now, she needed to escape, in case others were working with the Gemahan.
The map!
It still hung from the wall, untouched in the conflict. Carefully she leaned across the table to recover it.
“Archivist,” the call came again, though each word seemed to cause the man great pain. “Archivist…please…are you there?”
Icy cold slid down Erika’s spine, but she ignored it. As she looked down at the map, she caught sight of another star. It lay beyond the borders of Flumeer, but not far, perhaps only two days ride south of the Illmoor. A secret site that no one had ever set eyes upon, that had never been opened. The treasures it might hold… surely they would make even the gauntlet look ordinary.
She rolled up the map and slid it into her satchel, then forced herself to look on Sythe. His eyes still flickered back and forth, but she saw now what the gauntlet had done. Its magic had shredded his corneas. He would never see again.
He tried to kill me!
Shaking off her pity, Erika slid along the table to the wall, avoiding where the assassin was still struggling to stand. Even blind, he might still prove a threat. Only when she reached the broken door did she pause to glance back. Sythe cried out again, crouched now beside Ibran.
“Archivist, pleaaase!”
Another cry drew her gaze back to Sythe. He crouched on the floor, pitiful in his desperation, raw terror twisting his face.
Erika turned away. She would feel no compassion for the man. This was only justice. He had tried to kill her—worse, he had tried to steal her victory.
Let him rot down here in the darkness.
5
The Recruit
Lukys’s legs burned as he made his slow way up the slope. The weight of his pack and chainmail vest dragged him back but he kept on, teeth clenched, eyes fixed on the ground two yards ahead of his feet. Grunts came from the other Perfugian recruits walking around him, though little was said. After a week of hard marching, few could spare the breath for idle words.
On more than a few occasions, Lukys had wondered whether he could keep on. The way had been a brutal series of mountains, valleys and river crossings, with each night spent camped in the open, with only the canvas tents they carried on their backs for shelter. Exhaustion weighed on his shoulders; he had not enjoyed a good night’s sleep since the voyage from Ashura. If only the ship had carried them further south, the march to the frontier could have been completed in a day.
Instead it had deposited them on the docks of Mildeth, the Flumeeren capital, leaving them to walk most of the way. Apparently, the galley was needed for more important tasks, such as ferrying the famous Flumeeren spices back to Ashura.
Many of the recruits felt affronted at the idea, but Lukys’s childhood had been filled with hardships far worse than a cross-country march. His parents had been nobodies. That wasn’t meant to matter in Perfugia. Children were taken from their families at eight and enrolled at the national academy, so that none would be privileged above others.
But even at the academy, the division had been clear. His dormitory had been old and crowded; the newest facilities given to the noble born. And so had passed his twelve years of study. He was glad to be rid of the place.
Now, at last, he would have a chance to prove himself.
It had come as a surprise when they’d named him. The Perfugian army was renown throughout the four kingdoms; it was a rare honour to serve in its ranks. Lukys’s hopes had been for a position as a scribe or doctor, though he’d struggled with both in his final examinations.
But a soldier? He hadn’t dared dream of such an assignment.
Noticing the slope lessening beneath his boots, Lukys finally glanced up. A sigh escaped him as he saw the top of the hill was close. Several recruits and the officers on their horses were already waiting there. His fellows were taking the opportunity to sit and rest their legs, while the officers talked softly amongst themselves.
Coming to a stop alongside the others, Lukys leaned against his spear with a groan, then drew out his waterskin and took a swig. The path up the hill had been dry and it felt good to wash the dust from his mouth. Laughter came from the nearby recruits as they looked in his direction.
“Finally made it, peasant?”
A scowl twisted Lukys’s lips but he kept his mouth shut. The group were made up of some of the higher born from the academy, men and women who at various points over the last ten years had made his life difficult. He was used to their taunts, though he’d hoped they might have ceased now that they’d all been named professional soldiers.
“I hope we get to march into Calafe,” one of them, Dale, was saying to the others. “Let’s see how tough the Tangata are when they come up against Perfugian steel!”
The others cheered and clapped his back. The officers on their horses ignored the noise, though the recruits had been instructed to keep quiet as they neared the frontier. If the maps were to be believed, they were close now…
Putting away his waterskin, Lukys moved passed the officers. The remaining recruits were still filing up the hillside. Several of the stragglers were at least ten minutes behind; he had time to look around.
The terrain ahead was greener than what they’d just climbed. Trees spotted the rolling hills, though they could not compare to the untouched forests of northern Perfugia. Then Lukys frowned as he noticed a blackened strip of land. Further down the hill, the forest had been burnt, leaving bare earth stretching all the way to the broad waters of a river.
A river…
The Illmoor!
His heart quickened as he scanned the banks of the famous river, searching, seeking, there!
Nestled in a bend of the Illmoor was a town—Fogmore. A grin stretched his cheeks as he looked upon the end of their long journey. It faded, however, as his eyes lingered on the town. The stockade walls were tiny, and many of the buildings he could see looked to be made of woo
d. In Perfugia, even the poorest of villages were constructed of stone, built to last, to endure the wild storms that often bashed the island kingdom’s coast. Wood was only ever used as decoration.
He supposed it was all a farming nation like Flumeer could afford on such a distant frontier. Even so, his stomach twisted at the thought of sleeping in such a matchbox—what would they do if a fire swept through the sprawling buildings?
And why had they burnt the forest?
Shouts came from behind, then the officers were trotting past. They didn’t spare him a glance as they started down the winding path to the plains below. Lukys let out a sigh as he settled his pack more comfortably on his shoulders. Then he waited for Dale and his friends to go first—no doubt they would react unpleasantly to a mere peasant overtaking them.
The scraggly trees swallowed them up, sealing off the town from view for the time being. The weather had improved over the last day, but now Lukys noticed clumps of snow beneath the trees once more. The dry air of the valley they’d just traversed was replaced with a damp, cloying humidity, and by the time they reached the burnt section of land, clouds had gathered in the sky.
As they continued towards the distant town, Lukys looked on the ruined earth with sadness. Blackened tree stumps stood here and there, but the fire must have burnt hot—there was little remaining of the forest that covered the hillside further up. With the trees lost, the land already showed signs of erosion: deep rivulets carving through the ashy soil, exposed roots dotting the land, even a crumbling cliff that had collapsed across a section of the road.
Lukys couldn’t begin to understand the destruction. While they lived in cities of stone, every Perfugian regarded their forestland as sacred..
The aching had begun again in his legs and back, but the knowledge that every stop brought him closer to a bed—however flammable its enclosure might be—gave Lukys strength. His eyes sought a fresh glimpse of the fortified town, but it hid behind the rolling hills now between the recruits and the river.