Lessa only shrugged and reread the original script of the ancient scroll. “The last paragraph here says the prophecy was written by a seer enslaved by the King,” she said, tracing the lettering with her finger. “With her binding blood, the prophecy was written and was locked away in the darkest labyrinths of the castle to be seen only by the eyes of those it avowed. It is said that if the prophecy is fulfilled thus will follow the true death of the King and the freedom of Olleb-Yelfra.” Lessa finished reading, rolled the scroll up, and placed it in her bag.
The four continued down the stairs as they discussed the possible meanings of the hidden message.
“Well, it’s obvious who ‘dark’ is referring to,” said Arianna as she narrowed her eyes.
“Yes of course,” said Jeom. “But who is light?” The others met his query with silence.
“It’s all so cryptic,” said Arianna. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Talis Churry wrote it.”
“Who’s Talis?” asked Demetrius, observing a solemn Lessa.
“My trainer,” she said. Her shoulders slumped.
Arianna’s mind flooded with more depressing memories along the same line, but she tried to ignore them, thinking of all the good to be celebrated this day. She knew Solomon would be proud.
“I understand the ‘seek what has been denied’ part, but what about the ending? It doesn’t add up,” said Demetrius as he scratched at his stubble.
“I think it’s all a sense of balance… Light and dark, life and death,” said Lessa, musing through her thoughts.
“They cancel each other out,” said Arianna, twisting a strand of hair around her finger.
“So then what’s left?” asked Jeom.
“I suppose nothing…” she said.
“Or everything,” said Arianna.
“Do you think this could be about one of us?” said Demetrius.
Arianna just shrugged and Jeom looked at a loss.
“I suppose it could be about anybody,” said Lessa.
They walked in silence for the remainder of the way, pushing the discussion aside for later.
An hour passed, and they made it to the bottom of the mountain. No one looked back as they came towards the edge of the trail where a wooden sign posted with an arrow pointing towards the mountains. It read ‘Vanishing Tunnels’, so they steered clear of that path.
Instead, they chose to blaze their own way. They started towards the little town, traveling through the meadow. The flowers crunched under their heavy boots, and the cream-colored petals reached up past their knees as they waded through the field.
“I wish we would’ve taken the trail,” mumbled Demetrius who stepped with care, trying not to disturb the plants.
“I’ve never seen a flower like this before,” said Lessa, plucking one from the ground. She held it to her nose and sniffed, letting the pleasant aroma fill her nose.
“It’s a snowflower,” said Demetrius. “They only grow near the coldest places, but they still need a lot of sun. It was hard to get them to sprout in the Jar, but I had a few successful tries.” He smiled and large dimples formed on his cheeks as he brushed back his bangs.
Arianna stopped in her tracks, and the others stumbled around her. “Why don’t we rest here?” She stared up ahead and still couldn’t see the town. “It’s much further than I thought, and we need to revive ourselves before we start another adventure,” she said, yawning as she turned her robes inside out. She wanted the crimson on the outside so the white wouldn’t get anymore muddied.
“Good idea,” said Jeom as he plopped down, making a bed of the cottony flowers.
Demetrius did the same, wincing with every broken stem.
“We can make some sort of plan tomorrow,” suggested Lessa, following Arianna’s lead as she wrapped herself in a sapphire cocoon.
The four huddled close together, but the cool night didn’t bother them much as Jeom passed around a flask of whiskey he had taken from one of the slain regulators in the Creator’s District. They had spent far more brutal nights in the Jar and in the tunnels anyways. In fact, the cool wind seemed almost liberating in this instance.
Snowflowers rose high above their heads as their robes designed a mosaic ‘X’ in the middle of the meadow, replicating the flag Arianna had once stared upon so often in the Warrior’s District. As they stared with wide eyes at the star-filled sky, a comet painted a trail connecting the dots.
“Is it me or is the sky getting brighter?” Demetrius leaned up on his elbows, squinting into the distance.
Lessa followed suit while Arianna and Jeom lay relaxed with their heads resting on their arms. “You know?” said Lessa. “I think you’re right. It does seem to be getting brighter… Ara, do you see this?”
Arianna and Jeom gazed at the sky with lazy enthusiasm. Cocking their heads to the side, they realized the stars did seem to brighten, growing larger under the grinning moon.
“What is it?” said Jeom as he pulled his hood up.
“Those aren’t stars!” Arianna pushed up to her hands, and her head tilted all the way back. “Those are lanterns,” she said, reaching towards the sky. “It marks the end of the Free Falls Festivals. They’ll be letting the new citizens go soon…”
Their eyes glued to the sky as more and more lanterns became visible, high above their heads. They rose from far ahead and floated towards the heavens as orange flames flickered inside the large paper lamps. Thousands drifted along with the breeze, and it looked as if giant firebugs had escaped the caverns in celebration with the stars. The sight gave birth to a new kind of hope and warmth spread all around them.
Lessa began to sing a familiar song as the four watched the lanterns soar. Her voice sounded sweet and soft in their ears, tempting the others to join in. A moment passed, and their voices blended together in harmony, the melody floating all around and filling their heads with courage.
Watching as a black-winged dragonfly soared overhead, Arianna saw its turquoise body flashed bright against the nighttime backdrop as it battled to survive the winter. Arianna tried to keep her eyes open as their voices drifted away with the end of the song, but, after a while, sleep overcame her.
One by one, they drifted into dreams filled with starry skies and a world of endless possibility. For now, they were safe. For now, they were free, but stealing comes with consequence in any such place. Soon they would find that freedom meant very little in the dark world of Olleb-Yelfra. Slaves of the Four Corners were never really free… nobody was.
EPILOGUE
A ONCE NOBLE MAN
“My Liege, a message has arrived from the Four Corners.” The man handed over a sealed parchment stamped with the emblem of the slave districts. He donned black robes much like that of a regulator. Kneeling at the foot of the stairs, he awaited the King’s instructions.
The King took the parchment and opened it without the slightest glance in the man’s direction. “Another successful Free Falls Festival, no doubt.” His voice sounded deep and authoritative as he stroked the black jaguar at his feet. Dark eyes scanned the hurried writing, and his expression fell from relaxed to one of fury in a matter of seconds. His palm clenched around the paper, and it burst into flames, the ashes of the parchment falling to the floor.
Pushing up from his lavished, silver throne, the King strode down the steps with his arms behind his back. His long robes of black and gold flowed like water over the red velvet. “Come, Raja,” he cooed, pausing.
The majestic animal perked up at its name and followed the King down the stairs. Its black coat almost sparkled in the light spilling from a single chandelier, and her eyes looked an intense yellow, almost gold.
The messenger shrank back as the King came to stand over him, and Raja sat dutifully on her hunches, a soft growl rising in her throat.
“Rise,” commanded the King, his voice emotionless as the man stood to face him.
“As you command,” said the messenger with a quivering tongue, standing to face the mighty lord before h
im.
The King began to circle the man. He towered over him by a foot, and a colorfully-jeweled crown sat atop wavy black locks that almost touched his shoulders. A single gold chain hung from his neck, and he gripped a staff with a ruby center.
“I have received some very distressing news from the Four Corners,” he said, narrowing his gaze. “It appears that a few slaves have gone unaccounted for.” His voice grew loud, and the messenger took a step back.
“My Liege?” said the messenger, trying to control his trembling body.
The King began to shake his head, and the messenger continued to slink backwards. His gaze burning into the eyes of the man before him, he snapped his fingers and Raja let out a roar that echoed throughout the room. The jaguar slammed her front paws to the ground as she bared her long fangs. The black-granite tiles rolled under their feet as if an energy or force had exploded from the growl.
The messenger fell to his knees.
As the ground stilled, the man stifled a scream. He raised his eyes, and they met the dark pools of the King’s. “My Lord, please. I beg you…” he mumbled.
The King pursed his lips and tightened the grasp around his staff. The jeweled center began to burn bright as if a fire had built-up inside. The messenger’s body convulsed as a painful tremor shot through his spine, and he screamed out in agony, clutching at his skin.
Before he could recover from the sudden pain, the King drove his staff down through his back. The sharp tip of the rod slid with ease through his flesh, and blood pooled all around. With one last shudder, the messenger fell limp on the cold floor.
“I am very displeased,” said the King through clenched teeth. He looked up, flinching as his own eyes stared back him, reflected in the man’s blood. Drawing his hood, he lowered his gaze to shield his face from the mirror-clad ceiling.
The King withdrew his staff from the body at his feet and sauntered back up the staircase with Raja purring at his side. He leaned back in his cushioned throne and drummed his fingers on the wide arm, lost in thought.
“Brother, haven’t I taught you to clean up after yourself?” said a shrill voice. A woman slunk out of the shadows and surveyed the body on the floor. She shook her head, smirking. “Who told you to kill the messenger?”
She came to stand at the foot of the stairs, and the King lifted his gaze, observing her with an impassive expression. She wore a rose-colored dress which clung to her curves and revealed too much of her bosom. Her skin mirrored the King’s, almost as pale as the body on the floor, and her hair fell long past her chest in strings of silvery white. A gray, leather whip draped around her neck, and a silver tiara sat upon her hair.
To anyone else, she would have an intimidating air about her, but she served the man before her, and even he frightened her at the best of times.
“Elisa,” he said. “It has happened.” He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. As he did, the flames in the lanterns around the room seemed to grow with every inhale.
Elisa’s steely eyes widened in shock and then narrowed on the defense. She tightened her painted fingernails around the whip. “Shall I call upon Vladamor? They won’t get far. No slave is match for a necromancer,” she purred through lips lathered in black lipstick.
He gave a slight nod, and she turned on her heels to leave. He called after her. “Send word to Lord Agrobar as well. His kingdom is nearest to the Four Corners. And Elisa… do tell Vladamor to be discrete with his tactics. No one else is to hear word of this, understood?” Elisa pursed her lips, and she began to play with the leather strap, looking rather nervous under his scrutiny.
“Yes, brother… my King,” she said, bowing low as she left.
King Devlindor left his throne room with Raja at his heels and walked to the cellars of the castle. It had been centuries since his last venture down there, but he remembered it well. He placed his hand on the doorknob and whispered a short verse. Operium Undrio. The door clicked open with a creak.
The air smelled musty and dust billowed all around him. Taking a lantern from the stone wall, he mumbled another string of words as a fire grew inside, washing over the darkness. Stacks of parchments littered the floor, and thousands of books lined the walls on rotting shelves.
He stepped through a maze of large crates which had been labeled ‘seized’ before he came to another door. This one stood ajar. His heart started drumming inside his chest as he pushed the door open.
Darkness stitched to every corner of the room, furnished with only a simple wooden table and chair. Atop of the table he saw a small crate, the lid set aside.
The King moved with caution, anxious of what he might find. He placed his hands on the box and sat down in the chair, setting the lantern on the table. A few knick-knacks from childhood lined the top, but he shoved them aside.
Rummaging through the contents, he found several torn pages from a diary he’d written long ago when he was barely a man. He thumbed through the parchments, searching in vain. Pulling one from the clatter with a hopeful gleam in his eye, he tried to read the title.
It looked scuffed with old age, though the signature stayed intact. The King scanned the parchment, and his expression fell, setting it aside. Skimming through more and more pages, his gaze became empty and his body tense.
“It’s not here…” he said, clenching his fist around the last scroll at the bottom of the box.
The King leapt up from the chair and swept the box from the table, slamming his fists to the wood. His voice exploded in a thundering growl, disturbing the silence of the forgotten cellar, and Raja shrunk back at his feet.
The ruby of his staff grew bright, and a dark cloud engulfed the entire room. Only his eyes stayed visible in the dim light as the smoky fog twisted into a vortex all around.
Then he was gone.
The parchments from the box littered the ground, all signed in a verse:
Inscribed By Way Of:
A Once Noble Man
Born of Noble Blood
To a Once Enchanted Land
And Noble Kingdom
Acknowledgments
This story deserves a big THANK YOU to those who read it when it was at its roughest and motivated me to help Arianna Belvedor finish her journey.
Mom and Dad—I love you both forever for encouraging me to lead a life to no one’s standards but my own.
My passionate sister, Christina Marie—your advice keeps me level-headed, and I can always count on you to read a book faster than anyone.
A very dear friend, Lisa Diane—only you would stick by my side in a fantasy world filled with swords, arrows, and magic.
My first editor, Kristie—your kindness and generosity is greatly appreciated, and I’m so happy that this story gave me a newfound friend.
The man in my life, Maarten—you have been unconditionally supportive of my ambitions, and I will never take that for granted. I love you, and you inspire me. Big Kiss.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
Author’s Note
~Don’t Forget Your Magic~
Traveling is a lifestyle I’ve come to know and love, and it has taught me that the real world and the beautiful people in it are magical through and through. There have been plenty of enchanting surprises that have fueled my imagination and motivation to write. Whether it has been a person who gave me directions when I felt lost or seeing a place that I’ve committed to memory, I realized that there is an incredible amount of good in this world. Personally, I’ve witnessed magic on the edge of the Victoria Falls, spilling across the quiet fields of Missouri, stretched across the smiling faces of my students in South Korea, and sitting in the mountains of Uganda where the skies are undoubtedly the brightest.
The inspiration for my first novel, Belvedor and the Four Corners, spiraled from these adventures as I unearthed the better parts of the world, and it continues to be my motivation for future works in the Belvedor Saga and beyond. No matter where you’re from, where you go, or where you choose to stay, there is magic all around.
It is a part of this world, of you, and of me, and I intend to persuade this theory on paper as best I can.
Ashleigh R. Bello
Travel Journal, Blog, and More at www.ashleighbello.com
Table of Contents
BELVEDOR
AND THE
FOUR CORNERS
BY ASHLEIGH BELLO
PART ONE
JAR OF STONE
MASTER BELL
A UTOPIA
GHOST
SUNDOWN
THE STORM
THE BATTLE
PART TWO
DEAD
A SORCERER
LESSA THUR
SUNDAY
INTRUDER
THE AWAKENING
THIS IS HOME
WOLF OF THE EAST
CELLMATE
FALLING STAR
TRUTH BE TOLD
OLLEB-YELFRA
THE FALLEN
PART THREE
THE FREE FALLS
WALKING DEAD
THE VANISHING
TUNNELS
TRAPPED
SPELLBOUND
TUNNEL OF TOMBS
THE DOOR
ANOTHER LOST SOUL
ESCAPE
THE CITY OF UNDOR
FIRE AND ICE
INVISIBLE
AURORA
GOLDEN RULE
VANISHING CITY
STOLEN FREEDOM
EPILOGUE
A ONCE NOBLE MAN
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
Belvedor and the Four Corners (Belvedor Saga Book 1) Page 36