The Rise of Nazil- Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy

by Aaron-Michael Hall

  “Let go, Wosen. Release me now.”

  “You tease me.” He tightened his grasp, biting and sucking her neck.

  “I mean it. This isn’t a game. Please.”

  “We never needed to beg each other before, nor do you have to now,” he said, clasping her wrists together while untying his laces.

  “Wosen, no, stop this. I—” The skillful motion of his fingers silenced her. As his tongue tickled down her neck, Thalassa attempted to push away, only to be held in place by his steeling grasp.

  “Please. Wosen. Not anymore,” she pleaded, trembling as his hand continued to work.

  “I remember you saying the same in the practice chamber,” he breathed, enjoying the evidence of her arousal. “Again, your words have the desired effect.”

  Wosen roughly spun her around, tossing her skirts up, and then slid into her warmth. Thalassa moaned, weakening from the intensity of their joining. When he bit her neck and shoulder, she called out despite herself.

  “Jahno can’t please you the way I do,” he whispered, lifting her from the floor so she could feel all of him. She called out again as he stimulated every part of her all at once. The continuous eruptions of pleasure were both intoxicating and shameful. She couldn’t break free from his clutches, nor prevent her body from responding to his touch.

  Wosen moaned with his completion, pulling her in closer and pleasing her again. When he leaned down, kissing her neck, he noticed that she was weeping.

  “Thalassa? What’s wrong?”

  “Is that all you wanted? Were you pleased?”

  “Wh—What?” He asked confused, reaching out to her.

  She shook her head, taking several steps back.

  “Wait, please,” he said, quickly tying his laces. “Didn’t you want me to please you? I—I—I thought you wanted me, like—like before. I’d never hurt you, Thalassa, never.”

  “Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? We can’t do this anymore. I’m pregnant, and I love my husband. Why can’t you understand that? Please leave us to our happiness. Please.”

  His visage displayed the pain and confusion of that statement. “I didn’t know. Please, believe me. I was upset that you didn’t tell me about the babes, but that isn’t why. When you brought me here and then locked the door…” he shook his head. “I didn’t know. You’ve done the same before, and I thought you wanted me just as I did you.”

  She sighed, knowing he was right. Thalassa couldn’t blame him when her actions initiated the same in the past. She had to accept her part in his response.

  “It isn’t your fault, but we can’t be together anymore. Jahno knows that I’m pregnant, but he doesn’t know of our betrayal. It was the wraith, Wosen. The feelings I have for you aren’t false, but I wouldn’t have ever acted on them without that influence. Neither of us could control our actions. That desire, that ache wasn’t our own, it was a manifestation of Mah’saahc’s influence. I understand this now, just as you should.”

  She stared into his eyes, feeling the heaviness of those words. Not until that very moment did that truth penetrate so deeply. Mah’saahc had to be defeated lest the entirety of Faélondul would be corrupted by her maleficence.

  “Ahvixx said our urges would dissipate in time,” she said. “We must continue as we were before the shift affected us. I do love you, Wosen. As my brother.”

  “You believe what Ahvixx told us? All of it?”

  “Ahvixx is a conduit for the Guardians. He has no reason to mislead us, Wosen.” She stepped forward, taking his hand. “In time, you’ll understand. It’s not me that you truly desire. It is your wife.”

  Wosen stared off in contemplation, becoming overwhelmed by his emotions. “What have we done?” he muttered, staggering back. “Hibret would never understand this. She—she would never understand. I could’ve fathered the children that she’s been praying for.”

  “The children are yours,” she admitted.

  “You—you’re certain? There’s no doubt?”

  “Ahvixx revealed that to me as well. My brothers are aware, and think I should tell Jahno.”

  “They know?” he gasped.

  “They don’t blame either of us, but we can’t hide this forever. For now, I don’t think we should speak of it. Mayhaps after the danger has passed, we can tell them both. I only hope that Hibret will be pregnant long before that time.”

  Wosen reached his hand toward her and then stopped. “May I, please?”

  She nodded, positioning his hand atop her abdomen. His eyes closed, caressing her gently.

  “My children.” He smiled.

  “They are, and I won’t keep them from you, but Jahno is their father and my husband. That’s the only way.”

  Heart of a Warrior

  Ayrmeis straightened his stance, offering respectful nods to the Jasiri posted along his route. They never looked in his direction, but slightly inclined their heads in recognition. The movement was so subtle that few would’ve noticed it. Ayrmeis was one of the few.

  He fought to conceal his smile while admiring the redoubtable warriors. When he looked at them, he imagined his own physique and prowess in years to come. That time wouldn’t be soon. He was but two and ten, and his stature was slighter than he would’ve liked.

  Ayrmeis emulated Symeon, and hoped to resemble him as well. His father was well-toned and tall, but Pentanimir didn’t possess near the stature of his mentor. With that thought, Ayrmeis’ smile grew.

  When he turned the corner into the training hall, guttural roars sounded around him. Ayrmeis’ eyes widened, hearing the grunts and hard thuds continuously resonating around him.

  He dashed down the hall, hoping to glimpse Symeon in practice. Once he reached the door, he pushed up on his toes, peering through the barred window.

  Ayrmeis was in awe, observing the graceful, yet lethal strikes and thrusts. Symeon’s movements were fluid as he completed the complex motions of his training routine: a routine Ayrmeis was beginning to commit to memory.

  On instinct, Ayrmeis stepped in sequence with his mentor, synchronizing his steps with his own. Ayrmeis wasn’t as agile or as swift as Symeon was, but the moves were accurately delivered and virtually flawless.

  His eyes closed, feeling the rhythm of his dance. He wasn’t watching Symeon anymore, instead, Ayrmeis reached within himself, completing the intricate motions. He didn’t notice when the grunts echoing around him became his own.

  Ayrmeis completed a double backward somersault, landing in perfect balance before assuming a crouch, and then feigning a side slash to his imaginary opponent. With a feral roar, he rolled, springing to his feet, stabbing forward, and next to the side with his assegai. He remained on the balls of his feet, spinning and landing in a side-split, thrusting the deadly weapon above him.

  “It’s good that I didn’t approach,” Symeon said, bringing him from his trance. “Your speed and accuracy have much improved from only yesterday.”

  Symeon held a hand out to him, nearly snatching him from the floor. Ayrmeis immediately bowed, positioning both hands to his side.

  “Uzon Yego,” he said, breathily. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to disturb your training.”

  Symeon’s brow knitted. “I am no Uzon. I instruct you as a Jasiri Warrior and the First Chosen of Nazil. Never have I earned the rite of Uzon.”

  “Beg pardon. When I spoke with Uzon Osei, he referred to you as the Uzon of Nazil. I meant no disrespect.”

  “Uzon of Nazil? My uncle told you this?”

  “He did, Sir Yego.”

  “Well, to you, I’m the First Chosen,” he said, clapping his shoulder. “Now, we must train, Lord Benoist.”

  As Symeon started down the corridor, Ayrmeis didn’t move. He stared at the braid dangling down Symeon’s back, while touching the waves of his own silvery-white hair. When Symeon noticed the absence of his footfalls, he stopped, turning around.

  Ayrmeis’ expression was bemused, continuously moving his hair between his fingers.

/>   “Come, Ayrmeis. We must train. Your stamina must improve if you’re to become formidable. We have much to do.”

  “Sir Yego. May I ask you a question?”

  “Always you may do so, but the time for questions is after training,” he said, starting away.

  “May I ask as we walk?”

  Symeon halted, meeting his eyes. With anyone else, he would’ve been more stern. However, he found himself connected to Ayrmeis in ways he hadn’t expected. Just six days past, he had been a boy of eight, and now he was two and ten. Symeon knew what might lie ahead for Ayrmeis and what he could achieve. But when Symeon looked at him, he didn’t see that person, not a fierce warrior of the Guardians, or a paladin of light. He saw only a young man who both idolized and loved him. This, Symeon knew. Moreover, he had to admit: he’d grown to love Ayrmeis, too.

  When Ayrmeis was younger, Symeon saw his wife’s features plainly, but that had changed. If not for Ayrmeis’ cinnamon complexion and fuller lips, his appearance mirrored Daracus Vereux…his sire. Symeon couldn’t believe how closely Ayrmeis resembled his birth father. It was as if Daracus had been reborn in Ayrmeis. But as Symeon thought about it, those features didn’t matter. Other than the physical aspects, Ayrmeis shared no commonalities with Daracus. That made all the difference.

  “Ask what you will,” Symeon said, finally.

  “It’s…well…your braid, Sir Yego. All the other Jasiri have them, too, even Drah’kuu Kuhani. It must hold some special significance. Is it like your warrior marks or the Isfand Jihirosha of Uzon Osei?”

  “Yes. All Jasiri have a warrior’s braid, but only a select few have earned the rite of an Isfand Jihirosha . Both hold much significance, Ayrmeis,” Symeon said, bringing his braid forward and onto his chest. “This is a warrior’s braid.”

  “What’s that to mean?”

  “It means that it must be earned. Anyone can shave their hair and leave a single patch; however, the meaning would be naught. For a Jasiri, the rite of the warrior’s braid is only earned after completing the trials of amzi .”

  “Amzi ?”

  “Yes. When a warrior reaches amzi , or the age of decision, numerous feats must be accomplished. Only after the trials are completed can he earn the rite of a warrior’s braid and first markings.”

  “When will I be able to complete the trials?”

  “The trials? You want to earn the braid of a warrior?”

  “Didn’t you want the same, Sir Yego?”

  “Of course, I did, I’m K’ohshulian. From birth, we’re trained as warriors. My father and uncle were relentless in preparing me for the trials of amzi . There’s no prouder moment for an Uzon than to witness the passage into manhood, and joining the Jasiri: becoming a true warrior of K’ohshul.”

  “Would you hold the same pride in me?”

  Symeon’s stern visage softened as an audible sigh escaped his lips. “I am proud of you, Ayrmeis. No one that I’ve trained thus far has advanced so quickly or has been more determined. Not even Sir Neufmarche trains as vigorously as you do, and besides your father and aunt, Wosen’s the best I’ve seen since arriving in Nazil.

  “You remind me much of myself, you know? I strived to be the fiercest fighter and the most honorable Jasiri. You possess that same spirit and fortitude.”

  “Then you’ll allow me the trials?”

  Symeon shook his head. “Ayrmeis, this is something that we’d need to ask your father. He may not want your hair cut, or your flesh marked. This isn’t K’ohshul, and you are not Jasiri.”

  Ayrmeis’ head lowered, feeling a sting at his words. “Do you need to be born on K’ohshul to be Jasiri? Won’t your son have the opportunity though he’s in Nazil?” he asked, failing miserably at containing his emotion.

  Symeon couldn’t deny that truth. He’d already been contemplating Idris’ training. He wouldn’t direct his son’s path, but he’d prepare him for it, just as he was preparing Ayrmeis for his. When he looked into Ayrmeis’ pale eyes, he saw him as a son, too. That bond was undeniable and irrepressible. He couldn’t deny him this.

  “They will,” Symeon conceded. “As will you.”

  “Me?”

  “If it’s truly your desire to become a Jasiri, I’ll prepare you for the trials. It isn’t the location that determines a warrior; it’s what lies within the heart,” he said, resting his right palm over Ayrmeis’ heart.

  “Thank you, Sir Yego. I’ll make you proud of me as well,” Ayrmeis said, hugging him.

  Symeon flinched, nearly pushing him away. Warriors needed strength, not cossetting. He said that to himself, but found himself quickly returning Ayrmeis’ embrace before pushing him out at arm’s length.

  “We must first work on your breathing.”

  “My breathing?” Ayrmeis asked.

  “Yes. If we were on the isle, I’d take you to the Xatari Mountains. There are stairs carved on the mountain’s east side, and at the base, there’s a natural spring. All young warriors of the northern region must pass this most important test.”

  “But we have no mountain in Nazil or a natural spring.”

  “No, but we can have water brought and use the stairs to the roof.”

  “For what, Sir Yego?”

  “I noticed that as you completed your practice, your breathing became labored. It wasn’t by much, but too much to pass the trials. Breathing is an important part of your training, and I’ll teach you to breathe rhythmically through your nose. Control your breathing, and build your endurance.”

  Ayrmeis was puzzled. “I—I breathe through my mouth and out of my nose.”

  “You’ll learn to breathe through the nostrils and the water will help you master this.”

  Not truly understanding, Ayrmeis bowed, following Symeon down the hall.

  As they entered their practice room, Sarai and Hibret halted at the far end of the corridor.

  “They’ve grown close,” Sarai said, caressing Idris’ cheek.

  “With the amount of time they spend together, it’s to be expected. Symeon is not merely his mentor, he’s Ayrmeis’ First Chosen.”

  “No, Hibret, it’s more than that. Pentanimir is Ayrmeis’ father, but in many ways, he looks to Symeon in that manner.”

  “I don’t doubt that Ayrmeis might feel some love for Symeon. I know that Wosen does. It’s a different kind of love than you fear…a respect and closeness shared between the warriors.

  “Pentanimir and Brahanu are Ayrmeis’ parents and he loves them, Sarai. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  Sarai’s gaze lowered, turning slightly away. “I—I didn’t want a Nazilian child, nor did I believe Symeon would truly accept one. He—he attempted to convince me otherwise, but I wouldn’t hear him.

  “What we both suffered here,” she said, facing Hibret again. “There were times I welcomed death over another moment in this citadel. When I’d see the Nazilians, it arose such a hatred in me…such contempt.

  “But I don’t feel that when I look at Ayrmeis, or most of the Nazilians here. It wasn’t them, Hibret, and I understand that now, but it’s too late.” She sighed. “I’ve given Symeon a son, yet I fear he’ll love my firstborn above any other that I might have. It frightens me, and I don’t understand why.”

  Hibret caressed Sarai’s shoulder, rocking Idris in her arms. “No one blames you for those feelings, Sarai. After what you and others have endured, it’s understandable to retain that resentment. I can’t fathom what you’ve suffered, but I know what you have now. Symeon will always love Ayrmeis, just as you do.” She smiled. “You didn’t think it was possible in the past, but it’s obvious to everyone, even the Zaxson.”

  “No…no…Ayrmeis looks more Nazilian with each rising sun! Haven’t you seen the changes in him? He looks like that monster who abused me! His face is no longer his own. How can I love him when I see his father so clearly when Ayrmeis looks at me?”

  “That man was never Ayrmeis’ father. You love him because you see and accept him for who he is, not as the man
who sired him.”

  “It means little. Ayrmeis is the Zaxson’s son, and that can’t be changed. My heart aches at the thought of it. No matter how he came to be, I love him and want him to know me as his mother. I didn’t think it was possible, but I do.

  “If you knew what he did to me, Hibret…the pain he caused when he used me so badly,” Sarai said, her voice cracking, barren.

  “Don’t, Sarai, please. I don’t know who sired your son, nor do I need to know. Despite the cruelties he inflicted, you have a wonderful son. In time, it will become easier. Focus on the blessing, not the abuse. Ayrmeis is a remarkable child.”

  A wistful smiled creased Sarai’s lips. “He is. I understand what Zeta meant now. I couldn’t before, but now, I understand.

  “I do see Ayrmeis, and I love him more than I could ever express. I want to tell him that he’s my son, I want to apologize for not being there in the beginning, and I want him to know the love Symeon and I have for him.”

  “It might be possible, Sarai. Brahanu has already expressed the same, and allows you time with him. Both Pentanimir and Brahanu are aware of your feelings, but firstly, you must take care of Idris and yourself,” she said, handing him to his mother. “Now, I need to find my husband. Mayhaps he’d like to come to the gardens with us. He’s been quite distant of late.”

  “If that’s so, it might do well to spend time with him alone.”

  “No, I’m hoping that having Idris with us will inspire Wosen to have his own. It’s been far too long since he’s even made the attempt.”

  “In that case, both Idris and I are more than willing to assist.”

  Blessings of de Braose

  “Have you balanced the records?”

  “I have, Beilzen said. “I just need the records from the temple. My father is bringing them on the morrow. Everything else was completed while you were in Noraa.”

  Jahno nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. His recent travels were becoming tiresome. He had enjoyed having Thalassa and Suravi with him on his last trip, but he wanted to remain in the city.

  “Are you well, Jahno?” Beilzen asked.