Sayri’s Whisper
THE GREAT LINK: Book 1
Daniel J. Rothery
ABOUT THE COVER
Sebastian Pether (1790–1844) was an English landscape-painter. He is believed to have painted River Scene in 1840. It appears on the cover reversed, dimmed slightly for title clarity, and with Sayri’s shadow overlooking. This image is public domain.
Copyright © 2016 Daniel J. Rothery
All rights reserved.
First Edition: August 2018
For Heike, who probably did as much work harassing me to finish this book as I did actually writing it.
Now she’s going to be on me for the next one.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ABOUT THE COVER
THE CAST
THE WORLD
0DREAMS
1SAYRI
2SAYRI
3SAYRI
4ARAD
5CONFLUENCE
6THE BUNGMAN
7ARAD
8SAYRI
9GALLORD-SMIT
10CONVERGENCE
11JODHRIK
12SAYRI
13GALLORD-SMIT
14SAYRI
15WELGRAY
16JODHRIK
17THE BUNGMAN
18ARAD
19SAYRI
20JODHRIK
21GALLORD-SMIT
22SAYRI
23WELGRAY
24JODHRIK
25GALLORD-SMIT
26SAYRI
27ARAD
28SAYRI
29GALLORD-SMIT
30WELGRAY
31ARAD
32SAYRI
33GALLORD-SMIT
34WELGRAY
35WISSA
36ARAD
37GALLORD-SMIT
38WELGRAY
39CONTRITION
40JODHRIK
41ARAD
42GALLORD-SMIT
43ARAD
44SAYRI
45CONCENTRICITY
46JODHRIK
47CONFLICT
48CONSUMMATION
49SAYRI
50GALLORD-SMIT
51CONTINUANCE
52JODHRIK
53SAYRI
54GALLORD-SMIT
55ARAD
56WISSA
57SAYRI
58GALLORD-SMIT
59ARAD
60LLORY
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
THE CAST
Sayri
Fifteen years old, Sayri was born in the Lower Valley, a farming community ruled by the Lords’ Lands. Her parents are Vollori and Davoy, and she has two older brothers, Bress and Markel.
Arad
A young man born in Somria, a vast Empire across a broad sea west of the Lords’ Lands. His father, Commander-General Sherzi, is a powerful noble and military leader.
Gallord-Smit
A military officer in the Lords’ Lands with a history of brilliance on the battlefield. He was born in Promontory.
The Bungman
A less-advanced humanoid from the primitive lands west of the White River, which lies just west of Promontory.
Jodhrik
A monk. Jodhrik is in his mid-twenties, and has devoted his life to the study of the Great Link by joining the Sanctuary of the Spirit.
Welgray
A Collector from the Spire of Rising, Welgray is somewhat of a self-outcast who prefers to avoid the politics of his order and roam the Lords’ Lands in solitary exploration.
Wissa
A voluptuous young commoner, on loan to serve Welgray as his servant in the Spire of Rising.
Llory
Chamber Seat in the Spire of Rising, the council that governs the order of Collectors.
THE SETTING
The Lower Valley
Sayri’s home. North and east of Benn’s Harbour, the area lies between two ridges of hills; the westernmost connect to the mining plateaus.
Longhorn Creek
A primary waterway running through the Lower Valley.
Red Rock
One of the primary mining towns on the plateaus near the Lower Valley, to the west. Dry and craggy, surrounded by ravines. Named for the colour of rock and dirt in the area due to iron deposits, which are mined north of the city.
Wellam’s Bluff
One of the towns on the plateaus near the Lower Valley. In the east towards the Yellow Wastes.
The Sunset Cliffs
A row of cliffs ranging from dozens of feet tall in the south to hundreds in the north, which form the western end of the plateau region.
The Lords’ Lands
A semi-feudal nation ruled by a council of lords. Each lord has many subject lords in his province. Many of the subject lords enroll as officers.
Construction in the Lords’ Lands varies; all stone is common in the cities, with stone foundations and wood walls common elsewhere. Roofs are most often thatch.
Benn’s Harbour
A large, amphitheater-shaped free city on the sea; capital city of the Lords’ Lands. The city is left free by the Lords’ Council to allow for economic benefit, and to reduce unrest.
Construction is mostly stone. Posh residences facing the sea have large stone balconies with huge gardens above the docks.
Benn’s Harbour lies on the coast at the base of the Sunset Cliffs, which form the western edge of the plateau region.
Sanctuary of the Spirit
Home to the Proselytes, a quasi-religious group that seeks communion with The Great Link. The monk-like Proselytes are pacifistic and exert considerable influence upon the southwestern Lords’ Lands, though they demand no actual power or tribute.
Promontory
A city in the far north-west of the Lords’ Lands, near the White River. Home of Gallord-Smit.
The Spire of Rising
Home to the Order of Collectors. The Spire lies inland on the peak of Mount Crush, which extends from the northern range of mountains along the valley known as Titan’s Thumb. Collectors are feared throughout the Lords’ Lands and beyond, where they are regarded with suspicion and awe.
The White River
A wide, fast-moving river that plunges from mountain heights to the sea, separating the Lords’ Lands from an uncivilized place said to be home to beast-men and great lizards.
The Coastlands
A rocky but fertile area east of Benn’s Harbour scattered with fishing villages, home to Coastlanders.
The Yellow Wastes
A desert area east of the Lords’ Lands, beyond the eastern plateaus, home to Wastelanders.
Krushaeda
A nation of Wastelanders in the Yellow Waste. Some fishermen live along the coast, but most Wastelanders live inland among springs. They are a hard and violent people, and extremely superstitious. They hold great respect for Proselytes, but hate and fear Collectors as sorcerers.
Somria
An ancient empire across the sea from Benn’s Harbour. Ruled by the Overlord Yalcin Rex. A militant state.
Somria is mostly quite dry, with lush vegetation around the coastal and river regions. The climate is semi-tropical, with heavy spring and summer rainstorms common along the coast. The nation has eastern and southern coastlines; inland it gradually becomes less civilized, with no neighbouring states of note.
Construction in Somria tends to be in yellow-orange mud bricks with roofs in thatch or post and beam overlaid in clay tiles. The patrician class build in whitewashed stone, often with pillars.
Irid
A land far to the west of Somria.
Yalcinae
Capital of Somria, named for the Overlord Yalcin Rex. A densely populated, bustling metropolis.
Yal
cinae is fed by an aqueduct and has an elaborate system of pipes and fountains. The landscape is dominated by flats surrounding a number of small, steep hills.
N’tahar
A village in Somria, nestled in a deep river valley carved through the flat wastelands. Home to Dol Vi.
Jara’Kanta
A city along the coast east of Yalcinae. Known for being peaceful and picturesque, and for being a hub of entertainment and the performing arts.
Sayri’s Whisper
THE GREAT LINK: Book 1
Daniel J. Rothery
And there came a God-king among men.
Some say He descended from the stars, where He and His brothers had looked down upon men since the beginning of time.
Some say He grew from the earth itself over generations, as if He were an ancient, noble tree.
Some say He walked among His fellows as a humble man, to one day be enlightened with divine insight from the depths of eternity.
And the God-king ruled the land for time immemorial, for He was eternal, and the Land was blessed with peace and order.
And He was kind, for who prostrated themselves before Him were graced with wisdom and vision, and they ruled over lesser men in His honour.
And He was fearsome, for who shunned Him were incinerated in the blaze of His might, and who struck at Him discovered that He could not be killed.
Yet a day came when He said unto the descendants of the descendants of His followers that He would abandon them. So they threw themselves before Him in lament, bleeding and burning themselves in anguish, but He would not relent to stay among men.
And He said unto them, “A time is coming of great darkness through which I may not lead you, through which you must carry your own light. And when you emerge from that darkness and become worthy, I will return to embrace you not as children, but as brothers.”
-excerpt from The Repository: Prophecy and Myth, a tome lost in the sacking of the Sanctuary of the Spirit
0 DREAMS
The voice woke her during the night.
A summer wind was tickling at the heavy fabrics covering the window. Everyone else was asleep; she could hear them breathing. Mommy’s breath was a gentle sigh; Daddy was rumbling softly like an angry sprinter. Her brothers were both quiet, but as she listened for the whisper in the wind, Markel moaning and rolled over; he was dreaming.
At first she thought she was dreaming, too—but would she wonder that, if she was?
The wind’s whistle over the eaves outside lulled her back to the edge of sleep, her eyelids flickering closed. Then she heard it again; a secret whisper.
Sayri stood and went to the window. The old wood floor was cold and rough on her bare feet; the air was still lingering with summer’s warmth, but the ground knew that autumn was coming soon. Daddy often told her, “The earth knows what its denizens cannot ever imagine.” She didn’t know what a denizen was, but her eyes had opened wide as saucers as she imagined some sort of fantastic, eyeless beast stumbling deep in a shadowy forest.
Sayri, the voice whispered. Outside the window a great maple, its limbs overburdened with wide, fat leaves, rustled and masked the voice’s origin. It sounded like it was coming from inside her head. There is a secret place. A magical place. It sounded like Mommy’s voice; Sayri looked over at her, but she was still sleeping.
“Where is it?” Sayri asked quietly. Mommy rolled over and grunted. Somehow, her mother always heard her before anyone else did, but this time she didn’t wake.
Shhh, the voice urged. This secret place is only for little girls. If your Mommy wakes up, it will disappear. Come outside.
Sayri frowned and bit her lower lip. She wasn’t supposed to trust strangers, and she knew that going out at night was bad. But this wasn’t really a stranger—it was just a voice on the wind, and it sounded like Mommy.
“Where is it?” she whispered, getting up from her sleeping mat and walking over to the front door. It was a fancy carved door that Daddy had made, but she couldn’t see it in the dim light.
Come outside, I’ll show you, the voice said. Mommy and Daddy won’t be mad; I promise. Put on your shoes.
Sayri had seen Bress open the door early in the morning, when he needed to pee and he didn’t want to wake up Mommy and Daddy. She pushed it tightly shut first, lifting the bolt, then pulled it open just enough to slip through so it wouldn’t creak. Mindfully, she eased it closed. The bolt wasn’t down, but she would lay it when she went back inside. Her sandals were on the deck where Mommy had left them, so they would warm in the morning sun. She slipped them on and went down the steps, looking around the fenced farmyard. It was a bit scary outside, with great trees swaying ominously in the light of the full moon; the shadows of the fenceposts were sharp and unmoving, but dark fingers danced among them. Beyond, the fields lay flat and desolate after the summer harvest.
“Where is it?” she asked again, her tiny voice lost in the nighttime chatter of the great, fat bugs that talked by rubbing their legs.
With Mommy’s voice as her guide, she set off across the yard.
They found her two days later, far from home. When Vollori saw the limp form of her tiny daughter in the warder’s arms, she collapsed to her knees and covered her face. Davoy put his arms on her shoulders, though it was as much to steady himself as comfort his wife. Then he saw Sayri stir, and her eyes open.
“Sayri!” he burst out, pulling the bewildered Vollori to her feet, and they rushed to joyfully reclaim their lost child.
Why the little girl had wandered so far during the night, or how she had safely traversed hours of rough terrain—all the while avoiding the ever-present deadly packs of sprinters—was never explained. Nor was why she was found in an empty cave, so far from home.
Her parents only thanked whatever spirits might have protected her, and carried their cherished daughter back to their cozy farmstead home.
1 SAYRI
Hiking up a steep, grassy slope with morning sun in her eyes, Sayri couldn’t even see the trail. She could feel rough stones under her thin leather sandals, so she knew she had not wandered into the dew-covered fetchgrass, whose broad, hooked blades could catch and trip the unwary hiker. In misty childhood memories, Sayri could recall witnessing a boxcat take down a yellow-eared swamp boar with a lazy pounce, after it had become hopelessly entwined in a deep pocket of the stuff. She had stood horrified, watching the gruesome event on a nearby hill not unlike the one she now climbed. Her eyes flicked across the crest of the hill ahead, seeking any threatening shadows concealed there; simultaneously, her left hand drifted down to play at the leather thong that secured her knife in its mid-thigh pocket. She had been only eight, but she could still hear the dying boar’s screams rise from baritone to soprano and beyond, ending in a final desperate screech.
The crest of the hill was clear but for scattered tufts of grass that struggled to survive among large, grey boulders running its length. The latter formed a row not unlike the spine of a carcass—as if a great beast had stumbled its last steps to die on this very spot, then slowly decayed to form the hill she now climbed . . .
Sayri took a deep breath, her hand leaving its nervous hover about the knife to pull yellow curls from her eyes. She was often almost too imaginative, tending to daydreams, and here was no place for it. Though memories of the boxcat’s grisly attack were best not dwelled upon, it was still unwise to lose the edge of paranoia they stirred.
A gentle breeze was playing at the fetchgrass clumps dotting the ridge; it also tussled her hair. The loose dress she had worn—not flirty despite its bright yellow colour, but short enough to avoid catching in twigs—threatened to burst up like an errant parasol and expose her small clothes to anyone in sight. Not that anyone was in sight, but a girl had to keep her dignity, even alone. She smoothed it down, and crouched on the ridge to survey the scene below.
In contrast to the pale green grasses at her feet, the crops that filled the valley were a dazzling gold, and they rippled in the breeze like
a massive pond beneath a waterfall’s plunge. Her family’s roughly squarish field seemed to embrace their farmhouse protectively, while itself being coddled by the surrounding hills.
Beyond her home was the rest of the idyllic Lower Valley; a rambling creek, outlined by thick, green reeds, wound its way through a half dozen farmsteads before arriving at the town square. The village itself boasted several shops and a tavern—tiny compared to the towns outside the valley, but functional and adequate for the needs of the modest population nearby.
Her family’s farmhouse was an impressive affair, if not large. Her father had a way with wood, and with two strong sons and a capable daughter, he had found considerable free time the last few years. He had used it to carve fence posts into delicate spirals, to interlock latticework overhanging the roof with staggered posts and beams, to decorate the yard with benches, tables, welcome posts and work tables . . . the farm had more the appearance of a woodcrafter’s trade fair than a barnyard. Her father was enormously proud of his handiwork, and loved showing visitors around.
Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1 Page 1