Sentinals Rising: Book Two of the Sentinal series

by Helen Garraway

  Her face was creased and lined, weathered by the hot sun to a deep bronze.

  “We are searching for one who knows the salt flats,” Jerrol said.

  The woman nodded. She paused, staring intently at Jerrol, and then her eyes wandered up the lengths of the Sentinals standing beside him. Her eyes widened as she took in their appearance. She gestured off to her left and, turning, led the way to a small mud-baked building behind the temple. “Here,” she waved them inside. It was one room, partitioned by a rich red curtain, with soft cushions and rugs scattered across the floor. “Please, be welcome in my home. What I have is yours.”

  Peterion held his hand against his chest as he inclined his head. “May your home be blessed and the Lady watch over you,” he replied, and a glissade of happiness stirred the air.

  The woman jerked in surprise, her face transforming into a joyful smile. Her eyes glistened with sudden tears. “It has been too long since I last heard the Lady’s greeting. Lady be welcome. Please, enter and be welcome.”

  Jerrol did as he was told and followed the woman out the back of her home into a small, shaded courtyard. Slats of wood criss-crossed the open space. Greenery curled around the wooden slats, and purple blossoms hung like delicate lanterns, brushing the Sentinal’s hair if they didn’t duck low enough. A gap was left in the middle over a small fire pit, dug shallowly in the hard ground. More colourful cushions were scattered on the floor.

  “Please sit.” She swung a pot over the coals and stoked up the fire. The woman moved her gaze to Birlerion. “And what happened to you?”

  “A short sojourn in the Ramila slave pen,” Birlerion said with a slow smile.

  The woman tutted. “I have something for those bruises. That must hurt. I am Erissia, a town Elder and sometime healer.” She rummaged in a small box by the wall and almost pounced on Birlerion, as if she expected him to run away. She smeared a salve over his bruises and his lip. “Il Queron has been here since the time of the Lady; an old town forgotten by many; off the beaten track, now. Few visitors stop here, usually only when they’re lost or very lucky.” She scowled at Birlerion. “Are there more bruises under those robes?”

  “The Lady guides our steps. We are on our way to Mistra to hear the Speaker. My name is Jerrolion. This is Peterion, and you’re treating Birlerion.” Jerrol introduced them, grinning as Birlerion fended her off, insisting he was fine.

  “Jerrolion,” Erissia repeated, leaving Birlerion be. “Peterion, Birlerion. Ancient names that remind me of the Lady. She has been absent. People haven’t paid attention; they’ve forgotten what they should have remembered.” She cocked her head like an inquisitive bird. “And yet here you are, walking the path of the Lady, bringing the wind of change.” She poured the hot water into a jug, and the aroma of mint tea filled the air. “To the north of us, there is a place where the land flattens out and the dunes are compacted into hard, solid rock. The air is stifling, enough to persuade most travellers not to venture in that direction.

  “It leads to the salt flats. On occasion, I go to collect the salts—they are useful—and we often trade it. But apart from that, the lands are barren, empty, bare.” She poured the fragrant liquid into small cups and continued talking as she handed them round. “The heat shimmers in the air, confusing the mind; people think they see things, hear things that aren’t there. People get confused and disappear. The area is avoided; no one goes there anymore.”

  Peterion sipped the refreshing liquid, closing his eyes as he inhaled.

  Jerrol watched the woman. “And you are telling us because…?”

  “Because, there were once people like you walking these sands, worshipping at this temple, protecting our people. The waters ran and irrigated our fields. People visited to trade and share news. Our oasis has shrunk year on year. This village is dwindling to dust, though no one will listen when you tell them.” Erissia snorted. “How righteous are the blind. They root around in the parched land and wonder why nothing grows. They listen to the words of ignorant men and ignore the voices on the wind.”

  “The voices on the wind?”

  “Listen carefully and you will hear them. Early dawn is best, before the distractions of the villagers begin. They are good people, but very loud. They think everyone is deaf and, as the sands are empty, they believe there is no one to disturb.”

  Peterion spoke, his voice soft as a desert breeze. “The waters are sinking as they wear away the rock. They sink deeper, making it more difficult to reach. The land struggles, too. She tries to amend the flow, but she is thwarted, her attention diverted.”

  Erissia stared at him in wonder. “How do you know?” she whispered.

  “Sentinal Peterion has been watching over you for thousands of years,” Jerrol said.

  “Sentinal?”

  Jerrol grinned. “Yes, I was considering how widely we should share that detail.”

  Erissia laughed. “It will be across Terolia within a few days. Hot gossip like that? No one would be able to resist. The return of the Sentinals!” She gazed at Peterion, her eyes sparkling. “At last, the Lady is watching.”

  “I would prefer to keep it quiet for now. Tell me what’s happening with the Families,” Jerrol asked.

  She glanced at him. “You speak for the Sentinal?”

  “He speaks for all Sentinals,” Birlerion said.

  “The Families?” Jerrol prompted as Erissia gasped. She stared at Jerrol as if memorizing his face.

  He grinned, and she started, blushing as she realized she had been staring. “The Families are disintegrating. Their children are scattered and their agreements are in tatters. The successions are at risk. Families are arguing over minor infractions and ignoring the larger ones. They trade people for drugs, trinkets, favours. They forget their laws and listen to a stranger who speaks nonsense and follow his teachings without thought.”

  “And that person is Var’geris?”

  “Yes, Var’geris. He did visit here, but he didn’t feel it was worth the effort to preach to us. He invited us to Mistra, where we would hear wondrous things and leave enlightened.”

  “Do you know why he came here?”

  “He wanted to see if I was awake,” Peterion replied.

  “How would he know?” Jerrol asked, surprised.

  Peterion shrugged. “He tried to enter; my sentinal denied him. He sent a challenge; flippantly, I think, as if he was still unsure, but I was asleep.”

  Jerrol turned back to Erissia. “Have you heard him speak?”

  “No, only hearsay, but the reports suggest hysteria and adulation.”

  “Count yourself lucky,” Jerrol said. “They are using a mind spell called Mentiserium; it removes free thought and will and replaces it with a desire only to do what they tell you.”

  Erissia sucked in her breath. “That would explain much. It’s not only the Families that are suffering; it’s the likes of us, as well. I’ve heard rumours that in the south there are villages that have been deserted. All the people gone; no one knows where. The Families have forgotten their promise. I’d better speak to the Elders; we need to make sure none of our people go to Mistra.”

  Jerrol laid a hand on her arm. “Are you sure they will believe you?”

  “They’d better,” she said, rising. “We will eat shortly. Make yourselves comfortable. I won’t be long. There’s more tea in the pot.”

  Peterion rose to top up their mugs. He inhaled the aroma deeply. “I missed this,” he murmured.

  “Addiction is in the air at the moment,” Jerrol said, drumming his fingers on his knee. “At least we know Var’geris will be in Mistra when we get there. I want to hear what he has to say.”

  “Nothing new. They believe they are better than us and should rule; you’ll see. I think we need to speak to the Families first; warn them,” Birlerion suggested. “The Medera needs to understand what’s happening and why.”

  Jerrol grimaced. “We need proof. Otherwise, they are as likely to believe us as these Elders will. E
xpect company, gentlemen. I am sure they will want to observe us for themselves.”

  Erissia returned alone and furious. “They didn’t believe me. I told them to pray to the Lady for guidance, because they need it,” she said, stomping into her courtyard and thumping down onto a cushion.

  Jerrol laughed. “Is it so surprising?”

  “I thought better of them. What do you need?”

  “A place to sleep tonight and directions to the salt flats early tomorrow morning if possible, then Birlerion and I will visit Mistra. We need a horse for Peterion if there are any for sale.”

  “No horses, but I expect I can find you a camel. You are all welcome to stay here; it might be a bit crowded, but it’s only one night.”

  “There’s room in my sentinal,” Peterion offered.

  “But you will eat with me first,” Erissia said, carefully pulling a long-necked clay container out of the coals of her fire. Elder Erissia dished up her tanjia; a goat stew with spices and fruit which melted in the mouth having been cooked for many hours. It was delicious, and no one wanted to move once they had finished. “Elder Erissia, you have surpassed yourself,” Jerrol murmured.

  She laughed, handing him a small cup of her astringent coffee. “Here, this will help the digestion.”

  “Something needs too. I haven’t eaten so well since⏤” he paused. “I can’t remember the last time I ate so well.”

  “Then I am glad you had the chance to eat tonight. You intend to follow the voices tomorrow, don’t you?”

  “Someone has too. If it is as I suspect, they have been suffering for far too long.”

  “If you find them, bring them here. We will help them,” Erissia promised.

  Jerrol nodded. “Depends on what I find.”

  “What do you intend, my Captain?” Peterion asked.

  “I believe some of our missing Sentinals are up past the salt flats. They have been calling, but no one hears them. It’s time someone did.” Jerrol glanced at Birlerion silently nursing his glass. His eyes were distant and he had said little all evening. Peterion kept trying to include him, but eventually, he gave up. Birlerion knew how to survive in Terolia. He was familiar with the rhythms of the Terolian people. He must have spent time here and had known many people, now all lost. Jerrol hoped a good night’s sleep in Peterion’s tree would help him lay whatever ghosts were haunting him.

  29

  Salt Flats, Terolia

  They set out early the next morning in the grey pre-dawn. Birlerion had shrugged off their concerns about his health, saying he was fine. His bruises were gone, healed by the sentinal.

  When Erissia arrived with a creamy coloured camel Jerrol gave it a wide berth. Its brown, stained teeth tended to snap the air whenever he was near. Peterion laughed and gently cuffed the camel’s flank. “Behave,” he said, and the camel fluttered its inordinately long eyelashes at him.

  After checking their water supplies, Jerrol mounted Zin’talia and led the way out of Il Queron. He turned and stared back at the small village. “Are there any Waystones near here, Peterion?”

  Peterion stroked his chin as he thought. “There should be one to the west; do you want to circle and find it?”

  “I think we should. It may be the only way we will get the Sentinals back here. Are there Waystones at each oasis, do you know?”

  “Should be. They are usually to the west of the town.”

  “Very well, let’s check.” Jerrol headed west to circle the village. He jerked in the saddle as a chime vibrated through his body. “Was that it?”

  Peterion grinned. “What were you expecting? It’s a Waystone.”

  “It’s not just a Waystone. It’s a magical portal; a way of travelling instantly between one place and another.”

  “Yes, though I’m surprised it’s still here after all these years.”

  Jerrol rubbed his face. The sweat was already gathering under his scarves. “Birlerion, tell us what you know about these Waystones. Do you think we’ll find them across Terolia? It would be much better than riding in this heat.”

  “Leyandrii sent Guerlaire to make them when the Ascendants began causing so much trouble. A way for us to travel quickly. They should be located across Remargaren. We’re bound to find some of them, maybe not all, but you should be able to make them, if needed,” Birlerion replied as he led the way out of the village.

  “You did it last time.” Jerrol scowled up at Peterion. “You’ve got the bags Erissia wants filling, haven’t you?”

  “Of course,” Peterion huffed from his heights as he urged his camel forward.

  Jerrol grinned and moved up beside Birlerion. “So, tell me what you know about the Families. There are six, aren’t there? Three greater and three lesser. Why are they separated so?”

  Birlerion pursed his lips and then began speaking as his gaze drifted across the sands. “When Terolia was created, there were three prominent Families, who travelled and protected the Land. They were supported by three Families, some of whom settled in the region. I imagine those settlements have grown into villages now. The lesser families created a base to provide support, and they were elevated to the conclave with representation. The conclave is the meeting of all six, but one has never been called. The Families tend to rule their own and leave each Medera or Sodera to get on with things.”

  “So, the Families never meet to share ideas or information?”

  “They never used to, they may do now, though with the rumours we are hearing I doubt it. Meetings only occur if they are in same place at the same time, which doesn’t happen as often as you’d think.”

  “Why not?”

  “Although the Families are nomadic, they tend to stick to their own patch. The Solari and Gusarian tended to the north and the grasslands where their herds breed. The Kirshans and Mynerians stay to the south along the Telusion mountains, where they mined for their ores. The Atolea and Kikeran stay to the west of the Kharma ridge around Mistra and down to Livia. I imagine it is much the same today.”

  “So, if something was happening in one area, the others probably wouldn’t know or care. Each Family has become isolated,” Jerrol said.

  “I don’t know. It is possible. Each Family looked after its own and didn’t interfere with the others. Ideal situation for someone to drive further division between them, I suppose.”

  “From what I know, Terolia, Vespiri, Elothia, and Birtoli were once all united under her rule. Her Sentinals were scattered across the lands to represent her, yet they worked together, shared best practices, helped each other so all could reap the benefit. It kept everyone in balance and made sure that no one would benefit more than another. The Families’ way seems counter-intuitive. Each family trying to create their own system in isolation, struggling with issues another family may have solved. How would they co-ordinate to protect their borders if necessary?”

  They fell silent as the heat intensified. The rolling sand dunes gave way to flat plains, and as the sun rose, the heat shimmered over the surface, making the land undulate in the distance. Unusual rock formations, sculpted by wind and sand, were scattered across the flat plain, which extended as far as the eye could see. The ground crunched under foot as they crossed salt-encrusted ridges. The silence was interrupted by a growing popping sound, a constant clicking that made Jerrol squint at the empty horizon.

  Peterion chuckled. “It’s the rocks. The heat makes the water within them expand and the rock pops.” He fell silent again and they continued as the sun shone down from a clear blue sky, turning the endless plain into a blinding glare.

  Jerrol pulled Zin’talia to a halt and squinted at the horizon. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?” Birlerion scanned the empty sands.

  “Peterion, head northeast,” Jerrol said.

  Peterion waved in acknowledgement and his camel veered off to the right.

  “What did you hear?” Birlerion asked as he followed.

  “I’m not sure,” Jerrol replied frowning in conce
ntration. He halted Zin’talia again. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Zin’talia replied.

  Jerrol squinted at the horizon. “Is there a ridge up ahead?” he finally asked.

  “The central Kharma ridge extends this far. It descends into the salt flats.” Birlerion replied as he shaded his eyes.

  “That’s where we need to go,” Jerrol said, leading the way.

  As they crossed the flats, the heat became more intense. The Kharma ridge shimmered out of the haze and began to form a more solid horizon, the red stone solidifying along their right flank. As the heat intensified, Jerrol searched for caves that might provide shelter from the midday heat.

  Jerrol waved his arm and pointed to the ridge. Peterion and Birlerion nodded and turned towards the dark opening Jerrol had spotted. They all breathed a sigh of relief as they entered the dim entrance; the temperature dropped sharply as the rock blocked the sun. The cave didn’t run very deep, but it was large enough for them all to fit in.

  “Rest here,” Jerrol croaked, sliding off Zin’talia and unhooking his water bottle and a leather sack. He poured some water in it for Zin’talia and sagged against the rock wall, gulping his tepid water. He revelled in the taste and then leaned back and closed his eyes. Birlerion and Peterion did the same before joining him on the ground. The camel folded its knees and sank to the floor like a swaying barge.

  He must have dozed off because he was dreaming. A beautiful woman with rich, brown hair and silver eyes beckoned to him.

  “Captain, help us,” she whispered. “We are trapped.”

  “Where?”

  “In the rock. We were caught in the upheaval of the land. No time to get clear.”

  “Where? In the ridge?” Jerrol asked.

  “The land rose around us. She gave us shelter, but the sands collapsed and buried us. We were trapped and couldn’t reach our trees. We have been here too long, and the darkness defeats us. They are going silent.”