Eurue- The Forgotten World

by Elaina J Davidson

  Tristan’s eyelids flickered. “Promise.”

  Gaping, Alusin stared at him. “Now you step into that arena? Very well, Skyler, I promise.”

  “I am glad to see your anger as well.”

  Alusin’s chest expanded mightily as he sought to find equanimity, and eventually he moved back to the fire. “Sit. You need to hear this.” He gestured at the book.

  THE AUTHOR WAS esoteric more than scientific, and it was a work of fiction. Yet his imagination led to a spark of recognition, which led to sudden and unholy enlightenment. The knowledge kind; not a state of bliss.

  Alusin suffered the spark first, the knowing, and now Tristan joined him in his state of dread.

  “Daetal?” Tristan’s skin lost all colour.

  Nodding, Alusin moved to slot the book back into its space. Gabryl did not need to uncover what they had just discovered. The book was a mere pointer, but it served to not underestimate Gabryl.

  “Daetal are a myth,” Tristan whispered as Alusin re-assumed his perch before the flames.

  “Draithen were a myth too in Torrullin’s time and look what happened there.”

  Rubbing between his eyes, Tristan stared into the amber flickers. “What do we actually know about daetal?”

  “An eight-legged demon is one description. Eight-clawed spirit is another. A spinning vortex of eight circles is yet another, circles apparently able to transform, opening to become something more than a curved device. If my memory serves, it ‘sleeps’ while spinning, and is awake when the links release.”

  Tristan gave a slow and introspective session of nods. “Sabian, Torrullin’s master historian, mentioned daetal when he expounded on the lore of the Ancients. A miasma, he said, much like that which eventually formed the darklings. Apparently the miasma in the spaces in true ancient time was fertile, and a sorcerer, if he or she had the guts, could create monsters. Nemisin played with it, and thus the darklings. Clevas, ice sprites, many others, including daetal, made it into the lore. Other sorcerers tweaked, which has been recorded, but few creatures survived, and those that did … we’re talking singular entities, the kind one finds in broken worlds.”

  Alusin stared at the patterning in the rug and Tristan had the clearest impression he did so to hide his expression. “The Kemir, my people, told tales of the daetal in the older days. That’s what sparked recognition for me. I thought it myth, but now I wonder.”

  “The Kemir also discovered the quicksilver deterrent,” Gabryl said from behind them.

  Both Kaval men twisted around.

  “I wondered how long it would be before you stumbled into this truth,” Gabryl went on as he closed in. “I am impressed.” He hunkered at the edge of the rug. His guise remained solid, which was downright unnerving. “See, much like Nemisin’s interference led eventually to the first and ultimate success in the creature Agnimus, the draithen who nearly annihilated Valaris and her people, another like to Nemisin interfered with sufficient strength and … viola.” He opened his hands.

  “You are daetal,” Tristan managed to croak.

  “The first success, therefore the oldest, the one who learned, who became, yes.”

  “The eight-legged hark to you,” Alusin understood.

  “My children, indeed.”

  “Why summon us? Surely you understood we would uncover the truth.” Tristan cleared his throat.

  A cold smile answered him first. “I desire that you uncover the whole truth. Your Agnimus ended up as Sabian, a whole man with a soul. Your grandfather, the mighty Elixir, laid claim to that creature’s ultimate loyalty; so much so, Sabian followed Torrullin into the mists.”

  “What do you want?” Alusin blurted. “Wholeness?”

  “Indeed.”

  “What else?” Tristan asked in a low tone, already knowing the answer.

  “Your loyalty, Tristan Valla. You must balance the scales. Agnimus’ alteration left a void and, as Torrullin cannot offer up himself, it must be you.”

  Alusin was on his feet in an instant, sword drawn and levelled. “Not going to happen.”

  Rising, Gabryl grimaced and flicked a wrist at the blade. “That cannot kill me.” He paced towards the window, lacing his hands behind his back. “Was I not utterly astounded to discover that Tristan Valla’s companion is a Kemir. Your kind made a weapon able to unknit us and this is why it has taken me eras of waiting to attain this point of manipulation. You, Alusin Algheri, will stand as proxy for your entire race. How lovely; both goals simultaneously.”

  “You waited until Torrullin left this realm,” Tristan said. Swordless, he felt almost naked.

  “And Elianas. One does not lightly confront that duo. Point of fact, Tristan, Elianas is far the more dangerous of the two.”

  Snorting, Tristan said, “I am well aware. Word of warning; beware my companion also, daetal.”

  Smiling, Gabryl turned to rake both men with his frigid gaze. “Oh, I hope so. I do thrive on challenge.”

  Somewhere

  PERHAPS SHE SHOULD have set these events in motion while Torrullin was in this realm, she mused. His kind of destruction, though, was not to be taken lightly.

  No, this was the correct course, and yet she possessed less strength now. When Torrullin marched through their time, her energy had been superior … which led to her eventual downfall. Her energy summoned the monster and he forced her to rot in this isolation.

  Wrapping her almost healed fingers around a goblet of watered wine, she closed her eyes. Torrullin would have annihilated the monster; she prayed Tristan Skyler Valla possessed the same kind of power.

  She needed now to rebuild her vitality, for the time neared. To that end, she would behave, appear as cowed and broken, a victim learning her lessons, and in turn receive from his largesse.

  Snorting, she lifted the goblet to her lips. Watered wine was not largesse, but she healed ever swifter with his ‘gifts’ of fresh food and water.

  Soon she would convince him to allow her to bathe.

  If needed, she would offer her body in trade.

  Chapter 6

  Smoothness in a textured grip

  The feel of ice, remembered heat

  No place to rest, a pedestal of digits

  Despair? Enlightenment?

  ~ On Spheres ~

  Petunya

  Frond

  The Chateau

  AS FIRST LIGHT penetrated the dark of pre-dawn, it became obvious that the situation had changed. The chateau appeared wreathed in vapour as a multitude of the otherworldly creatures encircled it.

  Clearly, with his guests - ha, hostages more like - in situ, and having been unmasked, Gabryl chose to alter the game.

  “It seems as if a host keeps us in,” Gabryl murmured from the window, “and yet there are not so many, not as much as I hoped for. It’s the mist effect; they appear as manifold because of it. Of course, that manner of intimidation works well.”

  At the transparency on the opposite end of the chamber, the two Kaval men watched the beams of morning highlight shuddering feelers. One could not call them legs, not now that they knew what these were. Those ‘legs’ were definitely tentacles, as they had seen in action soon after arrival on Petunya; antennae to track and absorb prey.

  “How many?” Tristan asked, because he needed to know.

  “Thirty-seven, to be exact. We called forth a limited quantity of the ripe ether, unfortunately.”

  “’We’?” Alusin said in an almost inaudible tone. It did not hide his horror.

  “We?” Tristan prompted in a normal voice.

  “The Grunway. Admittedly, those incompetent sorcerers were unaware; they simply followed my directions.”

  “And died for it,” Alusin snapped.

  “Naturally. They served as the first required energy. The four of us in the hinterland acted as the nexus, the point of arrival for my children. Three of us succumbed to the calling.” Gabryl sent a smirk over his shoulder.

  “Why tell us?” Alusin demanded.

>   The daetal laughed. “Why not? I already know what you are capable of. If you know my strengths, we have a proper challenge before us, do we not?”

  Tristan and Alusin glanced at each other. The man had a point. “How many locals have survived this culling?” Tristan muttered.

  “Six, and they are here. There were four out there still, but they are no more.”

  Two of which they witnessed being consumed on horseback soon after arrival.

  “The six here are the final lure,” Alusin understood.

  “Indeed.”

  “You have curtailed this murder to Frond?” Tristan asked next.

  “As I said, there are a mere thirty-seven. Frond is ample for my purposes.”

  Yes, it was. They would die to protect the final six, if it came to that.

  “What comes next?” Alusin heaved a sigh.

  Gabryl swung away from his perusal and met their questioning gazes directly. They, too, had put their backs to the unsettling view on their side of the chamber. He paced nearer, hands clasped out of sight. The amble of a thoughtful gentleman of yesteryear, but this man was no genteel anything.

  “I shall now leave you,” he murmured. “The mercury band around this chateau keeps them at bay, but it also traps you … well, not you, but certainly my six guests. If you do leave, however, for whatever reason - perhaps to summon the Dome - I shall part the mercury to allow for a narrow passage. I assume that will result in a race; who will move the fastest, hmm? My gloriously evil children or my helpless guests?” He arched a perfect eyebrow. “You may wish to part the barrier, but the race will then find you too, and be aware of the agony to be endured in the parting. It will hurt, I promise.”

  “Why?” Tristan rubbed at the spot between his eyebrows above his nose, a habit that usually revealed his state of tension to Alusin.

  “Why do I abscond? Time will tell that tale, I believe. And now, au revoir, my new friends.”

  With a flourish of a hand and a swirl of his flared frock, Gabryl vanished.

  Flabbergasted, Alusin and Tristan stared at the space vacated.

  “Transport?” Alusin hissed. “Can he?”

  “I don’t think so. He speaks only truth, mostly because the truth is more disturbing than lies are in this situation. That was a change of state. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say he became vapour, much like his creations, and vapour, well, dissipates.”

  A breath of laughter filled the air, proving Tristan’s summation, and then utter silence reigned, proving absence.

  “He is able to traverse the quicksilver,” Alusin frowned.

  “Because he is also tangible. It might hurt him to cross that line, but it can’t kill him.”

  Alusin smacked his palms together. “Something about this doesn’t quite fit. His puzzle pieces are skewed. They seem to fit so easily, which means they do not fit at all. It’s too logical. Despite his claims and challenges, I sense he has an entirely different agenda.”

  “I agree. It’s as if he is goading us. Using this to jolt us into an awareness we know little of at this point. We are to find something, or release something.”

  Swiping at his nose as if to wipe away a nasal drip - his sign of tension - Alusin said, “The others will awake soon. I’ll go to the Dome …”

  “We dare not test him at this point. We summon the Dome from here.”

  “Fine,” Alusin growled. “You do it. I need tea.” He strode away.

  THE DOME WAS out of communications reach. Thus, ignoring his own advice, Tristan commenced the process of magical transport, doing it in increments to test the results, rather than the instant method of transfer. The ability was so ingrained in his make-up that he found it an arduous task to break the components down into small steps.

  The instant his form buzzed in preparation for the dematerialise, agony lanced through every atom.

  He screamed.

  Somewhere a crash sounded and thereafter pounding footsteps. Alusin hurtled in, took stock, and shoved him backwards.

  “Cease!”

  Gulping, Tristan relinquished his tenuous hold on his transport. Falling to his knees, heaving, he threw up. “Fuck, that hurt.”

  Hands on his head, Alusin cursed to high Aaru. Then, “The Dome can’t hear us? No, of course not. Bloody hell. And we can transport, but it will hurt as it hurts him to cross the mercury barrier. Won’t kill us either, but it may well incapacitate us.”

  Tristan looked up, grimacing. “We are ostensibly trapped. And, honestly, I bloody wonder if the barrier hurts him. No one, not even a manipulative bastard, chooses this kind of agony.”

  Huffing, Alusin lowered his arms. “Well, fine, then we take stock. How much is available for eating. Is the water drinkable? Does sewerage work, or do we need to come up with an alternative, that sort of thing. We are under siege. And then we talk and think until we come up with a solution.”

  “Belun won’t be patient long.”

  Alusin grinned. “I know. Soon enough the Dome will park in these skies. You all right?”

  Glancing at the mess before his feet, Tristan muttered, “Yeah. Fuck, I hate cleaning vomit up.”

  Laughing, Alusin headed back to the kitchen. “I need to do that for the tea I dropped.”

  THE DINING CHAMBER, a large space reached via double doors to the left of the stairway, soon became the war room. It was roomier, possessed a table with chairs enough for all to sit at it, and it was also impersonal.

  Gabryl, Jala muttered, had no need of a dining space and thus it was ignored. She was no doubt correct. She also added that the chateau felt more like a female’s home than it did a male’s, proving Alusin’s thoughts in the study during the night. As Alusin, Dez and Dash took stock of edible supplies, she, with an older man known as Fleur, tackled the documentation in the study, searching for evidence of ownership.

  It transpired that Gabryl’s bed chamber could not be entered; he had sealed it from their prying eyes. Either there was something he felt the need to hide, or the privacy gifted him a convenient space in which to return to the chateau in. Most likely the latter, Tristan muttered.

  Fleur found a deed to the property in the name of a woman, as suspected. Further documents revealed that Helena Woodburn married Gabryl Lowry a decade ago, and left everything to him in her Will. A death certificate stated she died of heart failure nine Petunya months ago.

  “That’s around the time the trouble started,” Dash mumbled at table. He fingered his long dreadlocks, grimacing. “When he became lord and master, he also became a creator of monsters.”

  Large-eared Dez just shook his short-shaven head.

  “Tell us how it began,” Tristan prompted, looking at Jala.

  Her dark hair was tightly braided into one long rope, and she wore bright amber beads in each ear.

  All wore something amber, in fact. Dez had a heart-shaped pin upon his woollen coat, the infill amber. Lunas, as the youngest, got away with a single curly earring. A pendant slipped into view occasionally when Fleur, the oldest of the six, bent forward. Macki was the quiet one; a string of tiny amber beads adorned his wrist. Dash had the most scars and, while he was young, he appeared far older. Slivers of amber peppered a broad silver ring on the middle finger of his right hand.

  Alusin earlier asked about the common stone. It was clan related, according to Fleur. They were of the Kor Klan. Other clans - there were many - had chosen different crystals. This region was Kor territory, which was why six from the same clan had survived, although not as a unit; they found each other as the months of death went by.

  Jala inhaled and released. “Yes, hard as it is to talk about the horror, it is also just that our tale is shared with someone able to go out there and tell others. Even if we don’t make it, our story won’t be lost.”

  Tristan closed his eyes briefly. “We are not gods, Jala.”

  “But you are immortal,” Fleur put in. “You have the means to get through this.”

  The two Kaval men said no more, not wi
shing to crush their hopes. Immortals could be killed, and Gabryl was no ordinary enemy.

  Fleur gestured, and Jala went on. “Let’s give you a bit of background first. There are three continents, all clan governed, and Frond is the most southern one, and the largest. We are far from the two northern landmasses, and therefore ships for sea and air connect us. When the trouble started all ships were soon disabled, although only we started dying.”

  “And communications, correct?” Alusin glanced at Tristan sitting opposite him. “This is why no word got out when this horror continued. He said calls for aid went out and those that responded died for it. He couldn’t allow others to arrive here in numbers.”

  “He kept one ship to make contact with us when he was ready,” Tristan muttered.

  “Go on, Jala. Wait. What was Frond’s population?” Alusin said.

  “As large as the land here is, it’s also farming territory, so our population grows slowly. We simply can’t allow people to overwhelm our means to livelihood. Anyway, that’s a whole other story. Frond, at last count, numbered half a million.”

  “Sixty percent of which was elderly,” Fleur added. “They,” and he drew in a shuddering breath, “died fast.”

  “Gods,” Tristan whispered.

  Alusin became grim, and did not say a word.

  Swallowing, Jala said in an almost inaudible tone, “The babies went next.” Shaking, she covered her face.

  Gripping her shoulder, Fleur took up the narrative. “It began when we were summoned to various gathering centres across the land. We’ve spoken of this, so despite no communication we know this summoning was widespread. Lunas there, for instance, was in the north on holiday when it happened, while Dez had just led his sheep to summer pasture in the mountains to the west.”

  Releasing Jala when she lowered her hands to reveal a tear-stained face, he went on. “Wherever we were, each of us headed home to family.” Lapsing into silence, he stared into distance. His hand slowly clenched on the table.