The Eighth Born: Book 1 of the Pankaran Chronicles

by C. Night

  “Thousands of years ago, at the close of the First Age, the gods gifted to the world magic. Why would they do such a thing, you might wonder? The answer is a dark one, my friends. You see, during the First and Second Ages, the gods walked among us. They lived as we do. There was much interaction between us and them, and everything was grand. Then came the wars, for one Lesser god, the Fallen One,” here Komil played a minor chord, and the crowd hissed and booed, “stirred up the lesser races and set them loose upon the others. We humans, the only non-magical race, were nearly decimated. She wreaked such havoc through the world that the gods, in their wisdom, decided to close the portal from Heaven and leave us this world in peace. They had seen the terrible effect of their divine power among us living mortals, and beheld the devastation wrecked by the spirits, so they reckoned that the world would be a safer place if they left it completely. And so they took their leave and retreated through the portal to Heaven, shutting it behind them.

  “But they did not leave us completely alone, my friends. They gave us humans a great gift, the gift of magic. For each High god served a purpose in the function of the world, ruling over a specific Element, be it Air, Water, Earth, Fire, the Heavens, Life, or Death. And they could not abandon those duties for all that they were leaving the world. They also couldn’t abandon the humans, as we were so near extinction after the wars. So the seven High gods gifted magic to us, to the seven children of the ruling family of the humans, so that they might have the power to direct these arenas in their stead. The Lesser gods also gifted their powers, which were branches of the true elements—Wood, Metal, War, Healing, Persuasion, and so on—to chosen individuals. And so dawned the Third Age: Now we human mortals had the ability to tap into those divine powers and use them, even without the gods, so that the world would never cease. And we became strong.”

  Komil’s voice took on a musical air. “As the years rolled on, the seven children established the seven Elemental kingdoms. But as the bloodlines of the families were passed, the ability to wield spread, so that more and more could use magic until, my friends, it was rare indeed for any family to be without a wielder. And as the bloodlines passed and mingled, many were able to use magic in more than one arena, until eventually many wielders could use the magic of any Element. But this leveling of the magic weakened it, so that even sorcerers began to lose control of their gift.

  “With this weakening came yet more war. We fought, but without our magical strength, we humans again were almost wiped out. The few humans left retreated to Pero, the Holy City of the Gods, where lies the portal to Heaven. We cried out, and the gods heard us and intervened. They opened the portal to Heaven only enough to send through the mighty Stone, which floated down the River Pankara, welling from the very depths of Heaven. The Stone amplified the abilities of wielders, making them stronger, their gifts more potent. And so began the Fourth Age.”

  It was completely silent. All eyes were on the sly, bearded face of the storyteller. He had captivated his audience with his tale, and though every soul knew the story, they were riveted, completely entranced with his telling. Rhyen too was staring intently at the old man. Now that he possessed the knowledge that one day he would be a sorcerer, the story seemed more real to him now than it had as a child. He listened, spellbound. Komil continued.

  “And so the great empire of Thronder became the mightiest, rising far above the glory of the seven Elemental kingdoms of old, for the essence of magical strength, the magnificent Pankara Stone, was seated at the heart of Pero, high in the mountaintops of Thronder, at the spring of the great River Pankara, the gateway to Heaven. Magic ran strong again—stronger even, some say, than in the Third Age. The wealth and prosperity of Thronder grew until even the streets were paved in gold. We drove back the armies, and took back many of the Elemental kingdoms. And peace reigned on earth.”

  The storyteller let his pause lengthen dramatically. The audience was still, waiting. They all knew what would come next—the terrible end to this tale. When the audience was so tense that the very air was thinned by their bated breath, the storyteller spoke again, in careful quiet, so that everyone leaned forward to hear.

  “Out of all the sorcerers rose one, one who was stronger than any mortal ever to walk the earth. He wielded a power so great that the foundations of the earth shook when he cast his spells. I speak, of course, of Taida, the Faceless, so named because, so mighty was his power, he could walk the world unseen. His strength was fortified by none other than the Fallen One, with whom he had made a wicked pact to free her from her isolation in limbo in exchange for the strength to control the world. He stirred the kingdoms against each other until war was threatened in every corner of the earth. Whole cities crumpled before him, but still he was not satisfied. He desired still more power.

  “And so, a thousand years ago, the Faceless arrived in Pero, at the heart of Thronder, and the seat of power. The whole army was waiting for him, but he walked through them unseen. He strode through the city with a chosen few, as silently as a ghost, and his evil sank over the city like a suffocating cloud. His very step turned the golden pavers to ash, and he went through the golden palace gates as though they were smoke, darting through them like a shadow through darkness.” There was a sort of rhythm to the storyteller’s voice now, and he spoke in hushed tones. The audience was wide-eyed and leaning forward to him with mouths open. Komil slid off the platform and slithered into the crowd, moving through them as he talked. One of his servants took up his harp, so that the resonating notes filled the air as Komil prowled through his enraptured audience.

  “He made his way into the very keep of the palace, to where the Pankara Stone rested in all its glory. All that stood in his way were a few soldiers standing guard. He was focused on his goal: To take the Stone’s power for himself so that he might rule all the world, for none could challenge him if there was no Stone from which to draw power. So intent was he that the dark sorcerer forgot to remain invisible, and so the palace guards saw him. Before they could raise the alarm, he blasted them away from the gate. Such terror seized them that the soldiers forgot their oaths and ran away. They were right to fear death, for they had gazed up on the face of the Faceless. So they dropped their weapons and ran from him—all except one, the nameless soldier who lay at his feet, crumpled in pain and fear.

  “Taida stepped over the body and came before the Stone in ecstasy. He began to chant a powerful spell in a tongue more ancient than even Perovian. At once, the wind picked up, whirling through the city like a hurricane through Corna. The wind beat with the ferocity of dragons’ wings, and the soldiers who were ranged outside of Pero turned and gazed in horror at the palace, for they now knew that they had failed and that the sorcerer was in their midst. And then, my friends, do you know what the Faceless did next?” Komil paused and surveyed his audience. They were too enthralled, too lulled by his voice and his story, to answer. He smiled and held up his hands. “Taida put his hands on the Stone, and his power grew exponentially until it matched that of the gods of old. When he touched the Stone, there was a flash as of lightning that exploded from the Stone up into the sky—and so intense was the light that many were blinded. But there were those who could still see, and what they saw was Pero was bathed in purple light as the sorcerer held his hands to the Stone.

  “All through this, the Faceless chanted his spell, and the wind grew until it threatened to blow towers down, and with the growing wind, Taida’s voice raised until it was deafening. Blood spurted from the ears of the listeners, and they writhed in agony all through the mighty Pero. And still the sorcerer chanted, and the Stone grew ever brighter…

  “But then something happened that Taida did not expect. The soldier, the unnamed palace guard who was lying on the unforgiving ground, just behind the sorcerer, staggered upright. A trail of blood was smeared down the armor, dripping from helmeted ears. Squinting against the brightness of the Stone, the soldier looked at Taida and saw his bac
k was turned—Taida had his hands on the Pankara Stone, head bowed over it, spelling so resolutely that he never noticed the guard leave the ground. Without another moment’s hesitation, the soldier lurched forward and grabbed the dark sorcerer, tackling him to the ground and away from the Stone. Of course the poor soldier could never have hoped to harm the Faceless, but what the soldier did do was take him by surprise, and with that surprise Taida was knocked away from the Stone—and that momentary lack of connection and distraction was all it took.

  “As soon as the Faceless broke contact with the Stone, the evil spell was broken, and the Stone shattered into a thousand pieces that were scattered to the eight corners of the world. In the explosion, the mountains let loose their stones and collapsed in on the city, smashing the palace, half of Pero, and many of its inhabitants. If any could have hear the screaming over the wind, they would have heard a great many voices go silent as the rock covered the city. There was no trace of Taida, nor of the brave soldier, so great was the destruction. All that remained of the Stone was the smoldering wreckage of the palace courtyard. And that was the end of the glorious Pankara Stone. As for the wicked sorcerer, he was defeated, but with him Thronder too was decimated. That was the end of magic’s strength, and the beginning, once again, of uneven war. So ended the Fourth Age.”

  The storyteller slowly made his way to the platform, letting his words sink in. A few in the audience were crying, for his words had painted a picture so complete that they felt they were watching as it all happened. He turned back to them.

  “Eventually, although divided, the people of this land found peace. The seven kingdoms became eight. There are still magic wielders, and even though there is no Stone from which to draw strength, these few remaining gifted do what they can. No one knows what would have happened had the Faceless been successful, but it is certain that if he had, we wouldn’t be living the lives we love today. For that, my friends, I thank the soldier, the brave warrior, the one who did not run, for he saved us all. And we don’t even know his name.

  “Let us remember that sacrifice. Let us remember this story. Let us never forget that all of us, no matter how insignificant, can follow that soldier’s example—put the good of others before ourselves. And then, maybe, we can vanquish evil forever.”

  He spread his hands wide. “Good fortune and abundant Harvest to each and all! I thank you for your ears as I told the tale.” Komil bowed, and the audience applauded him thunderously, patting him on his back as he left the stage.

  Rhyen clapped as hard as the rest. And he gasped with pleasure with them when the first of the fireworks erupted in the night sky. He had never seen fireworks before, and he gazed star-struck upward. Still, he didn’t enjoy them as much as he would have liked, because his mind, almost against his will, was turning Komil’s story over and over.

  Chapter 7

  He had heard the story many times, but never had he been drawn in so completely. Tonight, for the first time, he thought of the solider. Always before he had focused on the Faceless, dark and sinister and powerful. Or how the wind blew, or how the Stone exploded into countless pieces, scattered across the world. In fact, as a child Rhyen had pretended to go on expeditions to find the shattered pieces. But he had never given the soldier a second thought.

  Rhyen remembered something Cazing had always said in his classes at the Academy, again and again, hammering it into his pupils’ skulls: “No matter what, take something away from what you experience. Even if you’ve experienced something a hundred times, look for something new, an aspect you haven’t yet considered. If you do this, you are always learning, always growing, always gaining understanding.” Rhyen, along with his fellows, had rolled his eyes and dismissed this advice for many years. Now, however, he could see the wisdom in his master’s words. He had taken away something else from the old tale. For some reason, it twisted his stomach into a knot, and he felt something akin to deep sadness.

  “Rhyen!” He heard Cazing calling him, just discernable over the din of the dispersing crowd. Rhyen shook his thoughts aside, regretfully registered that he was doing a lot of that lately, and turned to his master. Cazing looked gleeful.

  “How’d you come out?” Rhyen asked.

  Cazing responded with a wide smirk and rubbed his hands together. “I’ve done all right. Too good, actually. I’m glad we’re leaving first thing in the morning, because once these lads come to, they’ll be calling for my blood.” He looked so cheerful about this that Rhyen wasn’t sure whether or not he was joking.

  The night at The Lucky Lizard was rough for Rhyen. It was entirely too loud. People were still celebrating the Harvest as loudly as possible, and fireworks went off late into the night. But Rhyen had never had trouble falling asleep before. Even in his second year when the dormitory was filled with wild geese (a prank by older students who were never caught, yet revered to the point of legendary status by all the younger students who were overcome with wonder at how the geese were captured) and the honking was non-stop and mingled with the yells of his peers, Rhyen had slept on, and never woke throughout the whole affair. Yet now he lay on the sofa, tossing this way and that, listening with the annoyance of someone who knows they should be sleeping but aren’t to Cazing’s deep snores. He kept replaying the words of the bard, turning them over in his mind, remembering the nameless soldier. Rhyen didn’t know why this caused him such distress, but still he pondered it, and sleep did not find him until the wee hours of the morning.

  When he did wake, it was before dawn and before Cazing. Even on short sleep, Rhyen felt refreshed. His thoughts were on breakfast, and the disturbing thoughts of the soldier were gone from his mind. He dressed and meandered down to the common room, where, to his great amusement, many were passed out, sprawled on the floor and across the long tables. He chuckled quietly to himself. Lucille peeked her head out of the kitchen and beamed at him. “Did you sleep well, Rhyen darling?”

  He smiled back. “Yes, thank you, ma’am. I was very comfortable.”

  “Ha! I knew you would, that sofa is long and I was sure it would fit you.” She ducked back into the kitchen and came out with a laden plate. With a warm smile, she placed it in front of Rhyen, who had eagerly nudged a sleeping drunk aside and taken a place at the table. “Eat as much as you want, Rhyen, I’ve plenty more in the kitchen.”

  Rhyen steadily plowed his way through several plates before his master, bleary eyed and groping the rail, made his way down the stairs. He grunted at Rhyen before sitting down, pushing the inebriate off the table completely. Lucille bustled out of the kitchen and placed a plate in front of Cazing. He took a look at the eggs and groaned. She smiled in a sweetly knowledgeable sort of way and asked, “How did you sleep, Cazing? Soundly, I bet.”

  He barked a laugh at her. “Dreamt of my winnings, sweetie, and slept like a baby.”

  “I hope not—those are my good sheets!” she retorted quickly. Cazing smiled crookedly at her and, hesitantly at first, began picking at his breakfast.

  In no time at all they were packed, their horses saddled and loaded, and standing in front of The Lucky Lizard. Lucille was gripping Cazing in a fond hug. “When will you be back?” she asked, her eyes a little bright.

  Cazing kissed her cheek. “I don’t know that, Lucy, but I do know that I’ll be pining for you before I even cross the Waine.”

  She flapped her hands at him, giggling. “You do run on! Get out of here, you scoundrel!” She turned to Rhyen and swept him to her considerable breast. “You take care, Rhyen dear. You have such a sweet disposition, you come back anytime, and old Lucille will take care of you.”

  Rhyen gently disentangled himself from her, pink cheeked and murmuring his thanks. Cazing flipped another couple of coins to the two scrawny boys who were holding the ropes for the horses. They jubilantly caught them and waved good-bye. Cazing nudged Brefen, and once again they were off.

  They resupplied at a tiny shop on the e
dge of town, stacking as much dry food as the packhorses could handle. The village was sleepy still, and the storekeeper yawned continuously as he helped them. “Stop that,” Cazing frowned at him, also yawning. “It’s contagious.”

  Eventually, though, they were completely ready. As they approached the ford, Rhyen got nervous. He himself could not swim, and he certainly didn’t expect a horse to swim whilst carrying him. Fright almost took him as he saw there was no bridge, but he blew out a short breath of air and straightened in his saddle.

  Cazing was looking over at him. “It’ll be fine, Rhyen.”

  Rhyen nodded, but then burst out, “Are you sure the horses can swim?”

  Cazing, to his credit, didn’t laugh. “They can, Rhyen, although it won’t be necessary here at this ford.”

  Rhyen looked at him, confused. His master explained. “That water is very shallow here, so you’ll barely get your boots wet.”

  Relief flooded Rhyen. He sighed. “I thought they were going to have to swim across the river,” he admitted.

  Cazing let himself laugh now. “We will. Not this part of the river. There is a delta that has formed in the center of the Waine. That’s the piece of land you see directly across from us. The rest of the river flows around the other side. You can’t see it because of the trees. The horses will have to swim that one.” Rhyen stared at his master, no longer reassured. Cazing winked at his apprentice and pointed the horses across the first part of river.

  Just as Cazing had predicted, Rhyen was barely splashed as they crossed the first arm of the Waine. The water did not even reach the horses’ knees. They crossed the delta, which Rhyen thought was really more like a small island, because there were stringy trees growing across it. The earth was solid and not at all marshy as he had expected. Too soon did they arrive at the second arm of the Waine. To Rhyen’s dismay, the water was deep and rushing, and the opposite bank seemed very far away.