Legacy of the Blood (The Threshold Trilogy)
Page 30
Adesina sat silent, pondering all that had been spoken.
Gauri leaned forward and said to the L’avan queen in a low voice, “Come to the elders later, child, and we will tell you the rest of the tale.”
Chapter Thirty-eight: Private Instruction
Adesina was summoned from her sleeping quarters after everyone else had gone to bed. Ravi was allowed to go with her, due to his role as her guardian. They were led down the tunnels to the sub-cave where the elders sat together.
“Welcome, Adesina le E’rian. Welcome, Ravi an Riordan. Please, sit with us.”
The young queen and the Rashad did as they were bid, and then looked around expectantly.
“Are you going to tell us the rest of the tale now?” asked the young woman.
Gauri nodded. “Yes, child, in good time. First, I wish to ask you some questions.”
“Very well,” agreed Adesina with a trace of hesitation.
“You call yourself the Queen of the L’avan, correct?”
“Yes.”
“How did you come by this title?”
“Through my husband, who is king,” replied Adesina evasively.
She wasn’t certain the reason, but she felt the need to be careful in her answers.
“How did your husband come by this title?”
“Through his father, who was king before him.”
Gauri smiled in appreciation of the fencing manner of their conversation. “And how did your first king come by the title?”
Adesina glanced at Ravi, but his face gave away nothing.
“Through his father,” she admitted finally, “whose name was L’avan.”
“The children of this L’avan took his name to identify their race?”
“Yes.”
The intent stares of the elders increased in interest, and Adesina could feel the pressure of their collective intensity.
“Do you know much of this L’avan’s personal history?”
“Some,” allowed Adesina.
“Was he ever in this part of the world?”
There was a heavy pause.
“Yes, he was,” answered Ravi unexpectedly.
Satisfaction washed over each aged Henka face.
Gauri leaned back and folded her arms. “Is your first father the same Layfan from our legends?”
Adesina nodded slowly. “I believe so.”
Pallavi spoke up in excitement. “It must be true. We have heard tales of magic-users from distant lands that are called L’avan, and such powers can only have been born from the same source as our own.”
The young queen felt strangely reluctant to correct the assumption.
“What was the source of your people’s power?” inquired Ravi.
Gauri rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Nayati the Scholar bore no signs of magic. Nor did any of his children. However, it is said that he spoke of residual magic from the great battle on this land that tainted the life that remained. It has never been confirmed, but we believe that our ancestors absorbed some of that residual magic.”
“Are the Henka the only tribe with such powers?”
“No,” the elder shook her head. “All Desert Dwellers have one ability or another. In the beginning we were all one family, but time and circumstances have separated us into our individual tribes.”
Adesina studied the faces of the Henka elders. “Why is it important for you to know the origins of my people?”
Gauri’s back straightened with pride. “Because we are the guardians of the Threshold until the return of the Great Ones. We cannot allow just anyone to approach Daemon Mount and disturb the holy gateway.”
“Do you intend to stop us?” Adesina asked quietly.
There was a pregnant pause.
“No,” Gauri finally declared. “You are the children of Layfan, and you share in the task that has been given. We will aid you in your quest to stop your enemy from defiling the Threshold.”
The young woman exhaled softly. “Thank you.”
“You said there was more to your history than what was told at the feast,” encouraged Ravi.
Pallavi jumped at the opportunity with enthusiasm. “Yes. In my grandmother’s grandmother’s time the Henka possessed a book that was written by Nayati the Scholar. It gave his personal account of the journey to Daemon Mount, and all of the trials he faced to reach the Threshold. The book was lost during a sandstorm, but the knowledge it contained has been passed down through the generations.”
Adesina’s heart quickened. She had been worried about the barriers created by the Serraf ever since she had seen her vyuhava. Perhaps the Henka held the answers that she needed to get past them.
“There are three barriers that guard the gateway,” explained Pallavi, “and you will need to conquer each in order to reach your destination. Fortunately, your enemy will have to do the same.”
The L’avan frowned. Her Dream had told of six barriers, not three.
“The first is the wall of fire. Nayati the Scholar and his Companions built a hidden bridge to overcome this obstacle. If you face the mouth of the mountain in the high hours of the sun, there will be a single shadow that does not appear to have a source. Go to that shadow, and you will find the bridge.”
Adesina and Ravi nodded in acknowledgement.
“The second is a room of traps and obstacles, just as it is told in the legends. Those can be overcome with care, but the real danger lies in the shadow of sleep. Unlike in the legend, the shadow does not come and go. It is constant, and it drains away the life of any living creature in the room. Nayati the Scholar’s two Companions who died in that room fell into no trap. They were under the shadow for too long, and their lives were leeched from them.”
“So, we need to overcome the physical obstacles as quickly as possible,” clarified Adesina.
“Yes.”
The shadow must be a separate barrier from the obstacles. The two would have been created separately out of necessity.
That answered part of Adesina’s silent question. But what of the other two barriers that hadn’t been mentioned?
“The last barrier is called the mirror in the legend. In truth, it is an empty cave that is filled with strong magic. Nayati the Scholar referred to it as the Cave of Terrible Truth.” Pallavi’s expression was solemn. “It may seem a simple thing to face truth, but Nayati wrote that it almost destroyed him. The only way to overcome this barrier is to accept the truth and to move forward. If you try to deny it, you will fail.”
Adesina could feel a bubble of apprehension expanding in her chest, and she did her best to keep the fear from her face. What kind of truth would she be forced to face?
“If you are able to pass all three of the barriers, you will enter the sacred chamber where the Threshold is located.” Pallavi raised a finger in warning. “This does not mean that you are free from danger. Our history tells us that the gateway was closed for a reason. Great evil lies on the other side, and our legends tell of its consuming hatred for humankind. Even if you are able to open the portal between worlds, you will be confronted with the purest form of darkness imaginable.”
“There are also creatures of Light on the other side,” pointed out Ravi.
“Yes,” concurred Pallavi, “but there will be no telling which will be standing at the Threshold to greet you.”
“I am afraid we have little else to offer, child of Layfan,” admitted Gauri. “We are glad to give you shelter during the storms, and we will give you a guide to Daemon Mount when the time comes for you to leave. Other than that, this journey must be your own.”
Adesina felt a sudden surge of warmth for the women sitting before her. “You have given us more than you know, and I am forever grateful for your kindness and friendship.”
“It is nothing,” murmured the elders with sincerity.
“Go now and rest,” encouraged Gauri. “It is essential for you to keep up your strength.”
Adesina bowed out of the room, but she did not return to her ow
n sleeping quarters. Instead, she went across the hall to where the men of her company were staying.
“It is Adesina,” she called through the curtain. “May I come in?”
Kendan pulled back the canvas and gestured her in with a wave of his hand. Faryl and Than’os were experimenting on herbs in the corner, and Maizah sat quietly near the foot of Kendan’s bed.
“It seems we are all here,” the young queen observed.
“Yes, we are,” confirmed Kendan. “What did the elders have to say to you?”
Adesina told them about the warnings and advice she had received.
“Well,” said Mar’sal slowly, “at least Basha will have to go through all those things as well. That should slow her down, since she does not have any vyala to aid her.”
Kendan was pacing in front of the entrance with a frown on his face. “I am not so certain of that.”
“What do you mean?” asked Than’os.
“That book you mentioned—the one written by Nayati—may be the one that came into Shimat possession,” the former teacher mused.
Adesina recalled the conversation they had while traveling across the ocean. “You mean Basha may have Nayati’s book about the Threshold?”
“It seems the most likely option. I cannot imagine who else might have written a book about the Threshold of Zonne.”
“What does it matter if she has the book?” asked Mar’sal. “It would only mean that we have the same pieces of information.”
Kendan shook his head. “Her information would be more complete. Also…”
He paused and stared at the ground intently.
“Also?” urged Adesina.
“There was a rumor,” he squinted, trying to remember the details, “that the book told of traps that protected the magical artifacts, and it also revealed a way to avoid them.”
A stunned silence filled the room.
“Do you mean to tell me that Basha may have a way to bypass the barriers that protect the Threshold?” Adesina asked in a subdued tone.
“It is possible,” affirmed Kendan. “I cannot be sure, because it was only a rumor. I cannot even be sure that the rumor dealt with the same ancient text. I might be confusing it with another translation of the time.”
“How many ancient Zonnese texts can the Shimat possibly hold?” Faryl said in an exasperated tone.
Kendan didn’t blink. “The Shimat have gone to great lengths to procure any information that has to do with magic.”
Mar’sal’s face was filled with doubt. “So, what can we do?”
The former Shimat waved a hand. “There is nothing we can do about Basha, unless we manage to catch up to her.”
“Which does not seem likely,” inserted Than’os.
Adesina did her best to appear confident and unconcerned, but she wasn’t sure she succeeded. “Then we shall focus on getting through the barriers ourselves.”
They all knew that it was their only real option at present.
“First of all, the wall of fire,” began the L’avan queen.
“We know where to look for the bridge,” continued Than’os, “but that does not mean it is necessarily the best option.”
“Oh?”
He looked over at the group’s leader. “Why not use your vyala to carry each of us over the flames in safety?”
Adesina felt the cold claw of fear clutch her heart, and she could sense that Ravi was keenly aware of her emotions. “I…cannot…”
“I do not think that would be wise,” interrupted her guardian.
“Why not?”
All eyes were on Adesina and Ravi, and the young woman could hardly bring herself to meet their stares. She, too, looked to the Rashad for a plausible answer.
“We do not know what trials we will face once we pass the first barrier of Daemon Mount. It may stretch each of us to the limit of our abilities. This land has been drained of its natural vyala, and so there is no way to quickly replenish what we use. We must be careful not to waste energy when there are other options available to us.”
The L’avan indicated their understanding and Adesina suppressed a sigh of relief. She would not be forced to admit her growing terror to those that followed her on this mission.
“Yes, you are right,” agreed Kendan. “We need to plan the use of our resources wisely. Is there any way we can find more details about the obstacles of the second barrier?”
“Why not ask the Henka to tell us all of the variations of their legends? Surely there would be a basis of truth to each tale,” suggested Faryl.
“Yes, you may be right,” mused Than’os. “It certainly would not hurt.”
“We have several days to prepare for our journey,” said Kendan brusquely. “We shall gather what information we can while we are here. We should also make sure that we are keeping in good physical health. We will each need strength for the last part of this mission.”
Adesina and the others assented immediately.
There is something more important for you to do, Ma’eve.
She turned to her guardian and gave him a questioning look.
We must find a way for you to master your vyala once more.
Chapter Thirty-nine: Storms in the Desert
Violent winds howled relentlessly across Zonne, and the sound echoed in the well-hidden cave to the east of the Henka camp. The constant noise made Basha feel as though she was going mad.
She was in a foul temper, even without the cacophony. She had been holed up with her two companions for three days now, and there was no end in sight.
How she hated men.
They never had anything intelligent to say—least of all these two with her. They had the most infuriating habits. The festering stench of their overripe bodies sickened her to the core. And worst of all, they had the tendency to undervalue her.
Loathsome creatures.
Normally, Basha could overlook her extreme distaste for the gender. After all, they did have their uses. However, she was not accustomed to being trapped in a small enclosure with them.
The Zonnese guide had tried to be social for the first few days of their journey, but her consistently cold manner had soon taught him to keep to himself. He had assured her that the storms would not be a problem, but he had failed to mention that they would be spending day after day in a desert cave.
They had stopped traveling a full day before the storms even arrived because the next closest cave that could have sheltered them was at too great a distance. The caves were known only to a handful of guides, and they were always kept well stocked this time of the year. They had plenty of food and water to wait out the storms…if Basha didn’t kill them first.
The L’avan was somewhat better, and yet infinitely worse. He followed Basha’s every command without question or hesitation. At first she had found this amusing. Now, it filled her with unreasonable anger.
The former king did nothing but follow commands.
His body needed rest when exerted, but his mind did not appear to need sleep. He simply sat through each night, staring at the ground. He never spoke, he never changed expression. He was barely more than a living corpse.
Basha had thought that it would be a great pleasure to exact revenge on Adesina, her oldest enemy, but the reality of the situation was far from pleasing.
The L’avan didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know he was a slave to his precious wife’s nemesis. He didn’t know that he had attacked her with his own magic. He didn’t know that he traveled toward an end that would destroy everything his people held dear.
He simply followed orders.
There was no guarantee that Adesina knew any of this either.
True, she knew that Basha had enslaved her husband. That prissy wench must have seen her husband’s face when they last met.
Was that knowledge enough to satisfy Basha’s need for revenge?
No, she admitted to herself, it is not.
What would grant her that sense of fulfillment?
Certainly there was nothing in the present that would shift Basha’s temper.
Her slender fingers began to stroke the spine of the dusty tome at her side. The binding was made from ancient leather, and it required gentle handling. Repeating what had become a nightly ritual, Basha opened the large book and carefully read the pieces of parchment that bore a translation of the faded text.
The parchment with filled with the spidery writing of the Shimat scholars. There were several drawings that illustrated the text, and Basha studied each with obsessive focus.
The shape of the lone mountain seemed unique—Basha had never seen a peak quite like it. The guide told her that the locals called it Daemon Mount, and they swore that it rose from the very depths of Darkness.
Superstitious drivel!
The book wrote of a wall of fire that surrounded the entire mountain. Basha had asked the guide if that was accurate, but he could not tell her. No Zonnese ever went within a day of Daemon Mount, for fear of losing their soul.
Basha snorted to herself in derision.
If the ancient account could be relied upon, there was a stone bridge that would lead them over the ring of flames.
From there, the path would lead through the entrance of a cave and upwards towards the peak, but there was another way. A secret way.
Basha traced the faint illustration with the tip of her calloused finger.
The author of this aged tome had gone to great lengths to discover and document the secrets of Daemon Mount. What could have driven him to take such pains? Did he seek power, just as Basha did now?
Given what she had seen of these naïve Zonnese, the author had probably been on some sort of fool-headed spiritual journey.
None of that mattered now.