by Isu Yin
Aberthol stared at Loequazh Thabo in his hands. Millennia since its forging? Then, still cautious of its touch, he sheathed the sword at his side. I have much to speak of with Illiam.
Celdar draped rich robes of red and purple over Aberthol’s back. Lastly, upon his head, Erbin placed a crown of gold and gems, fashioned with a dragon—the same one depicted on the amulet he wore around his neck.
The squires stood aside as he gazed into the mirror. He was taken aback to see a figure looking out at him that bore a striking resemblance to the kings carved in the sarcophagus lids of his tomb—from the boots on his feet, to the sword at his side, to the crown on his head. He stood silent as someone he did not know stared back at him.
“The time has come, Your Majesty,” said Celdar.
Aberthol turned away from the reflected stranger and followed the squires as they walked to the door through which he had entered.
The squires opened the doors to a large contingent of people gathered in the hall outside, all clad in dress uniforms and fine robes.
Illiam stood strong and proud, the years melted from him. Next to him stood Elise, adorned in a light, flowing gown girded with gold. A deep green emerald, hidden slightly by her golden hair, draped over her forehead on a delicate chain. She smiled at the sight of Aberthol. Light infused her face.
For his part, Aberthol at once felt rather awkward arrayed in the kingly vestments. How foolish I must appear.
Illiam dropped to his knee, and everyone around followed suit. “Welcome, Your Majesty. Thank you for deeming us worthy to bear witness to your ascendancy. Greatly exalted is your name. Long may your kingdom endure, and mighty be the judgments of your hand.”
Illiam stood and turned to walk down the hall, motioning Aberthol after him.
Elise followed and grasped the train of Aberthol’s robes as he walked. The rest of the contingent fell in line.
Illiam called forth in a loud voice, “The king has come. Long may he reign.”
All the people behind shouted, “Long may he reign.”
Illiam shouted again, “The king has come. Long may he reign.”
“Long may he reign.”
This repeated several times before at last they stopped in front of double doors that rose thirty feet in the side of an ornately detailed wall. Sentries flanked huge columns, again like majestic trees. Three beams barred the doors, each appearing strong enough to withstand the attack of an immense army.
Long ropes hung on both sides, and at once Aberthol’s squires began to pull them in concert. Muted bells rang from the far side of the doors. A pair of trumpeters blew into the mouthpieces of giant horns, which also sounded outside the great door.
Guards drew back the huge locks and raised the bars blocking the doors.
The bells and trumpets grew silent as Illiam turned to Aberthol. “I will announce the king, and then you will pass through the gates and address your people. This day the land shall once more breathe deep after breathless centuries. The king will not disappoint the patience of Nuadaim.”
Illiam waited for him to display his readiness. Aberthol closed his eyes and took a deep breath, unsure how he found himself standing in front of a door that opened on a path he was uncertain he wished to take. At last, with no apparent option, he opened his eyes and nodded.
Illiam turned, and the gates heaved outward. All those around Aberthol averted their eyes from the widening aperture; the king alone would be first to gaze upon the outside world. A gentle breeze wafted in through the opening.
Illiam shouted with a clear voice into a vast courtyard beyond, “The king has come. Give your allegiance to Aberthol Nauile, son of Heulfryne Nauile, rightful heir and king of all Nuadaim.”
Elise nudged him from behind. He stepped forward into the sunlight, onto a large balcony overlooking an open square in the middle of an immense city. As his eyesight adjusted to the brightness, Aberthol walked forward toward the rail. Upon reaching the edge, he gazed out over the courtyard below. His eyes fell upon the expanse of the square and beheld nothing.
The sunlit, column-lined plaza below was utterly empty.
He turned back in confusion toward Illiam and Elise, who moved from the shadow of the door behind him.
“They have forgotten,” Illiam cried. “The people have abandoned the truth.”
Aberthol set his gaze on Elise, who had tears welling up in her eyes. “Grandfather, I do not understand.”
A flash of color streaked by Aberthol and he heard a thud.
Elise screamed as Illiam staggered back with a shocked expression on his face. A long black arrow with red feathers protruded from the left side of his chest. The old man remained upright for a moment longer, his mouth moving in voiceless words, and then he fell to the floor.
Elise rushed to his side.
Aberthol searched for the source of the arrow as another flew forth. This one hit him in the chest and glanced off the golden mail shirt. He dove to the ground.
The king has come, and apparently the only beings in all Nuadaim who took notice want him dead.
CHAPTER 3 – FLIGHT
Arrows pinged about Aberthol as he crawled to Elise, who lay weeping over the prone, bleeding figure of Illiam.
“I do not understand,” she cried. “Why kill Grandfather? He dedicated his whole life to the cause of Nuadaim.”
Illiam lay staring at the blue sky, his mouth moving in silent words as his gaze grew more distant. In one final effort, he reached up with a shaking hand, pulled Elise close to his lips, and whispered into her ear. Then he turned his face toward Aberthol. A gentle smile touched his lips, and, at last, his eyes grew dark.
Elise swung her gaze at Aberthol, who knelt beside her. “Bring him back.” She became frantic and raised a fist to beat on Aberthol’s chest. “Bring him back to me! You must bring my grandfather back....”
He grabbed her wrists and pulled her close. “I cannot. He is gone.”
Suddenly, crimson-clad soldiers leapt over the balcony rail. Aberthol glimpsed a fleeting patch of shadow behind them. A contingent of armed Neglafem passed by, swords drawn.
As three of them pulled Aberthol and Elise back toward the gloom of the door, Elise fought, not wanting to leave her grandfather. “Please, you must bring him back to me.” Her voice trailed off to a whimper.
Once they were beyond the threshold, the tall doors began to close.
Arrows continued to rain down as Aberthol protected Elise with his armored body. He caught one last glimpse through the closing door of a creature wreathed in dark red smoke. The beast leapt over the form of Illiam and struck a Neglafem warrior dead with what appeared to be razor-sharp talons. The door slammed shut and the noise of battle grew quiet.
Elise wept on the floor at Aberthol’s feet.
From behind him, someone said, “Your Majesty, we must go—”
Aberthol raised a hand to silence the speaker. “Give her one moment please.” He touched Elise on the head.
Her body tensed and she recoiled from his hand. “You cannot be who we hoped for.”
Once more Aberthol reached for her, but drew back when he witnessed the fire in her tear-filled eyes.
“Do not touch me.” She lurched to her feet and began to walk away. “Even as he lay dying he believed, but how can I?” She shuffled down the hall.
Aberthol stared at her retreating back. I cannot be the one these people waited for. I had no power to save that poor man’s life.
Elise glanced over her shoulder. “Come with me. I wish to finish this.”
He began to follow but hesitated when, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a shadow separating from the wall.
He turned but saw nothing.
“I do not wish to have visions anymore,” he whispered. “Leave me alone.”
Elise turned a corner, and Aberthol jogged to catch up.
She stopped at a small alcove, retrieved two oilskins and a long bundle wrapped in a coarse woolen blanket, and then continued down t
he corridor.
They entered the great hall, startling the workers who were cleaning up after the celebration. All bowed as they passed through. Elise opened the door at far end and descended the spiral stairs. At the bottom she strode down a hallway and entered the mausoleum.
Aberthol entered the darkened hall after her. The ancient smells enveloped him once more.
She began to fill the lamps with oil and relight them, flooding the room with light. She finished by building a fire in the dining room, and then turned toward him. A distance in her eyes spoke of a hardened resolve to fulfill her duty.
“Elise, you must know—”
“I beg your tolerance, Your Majesty,” she said through clenched teeth. “I... I cannot speak about....” She struggled against the tears welling in her eyes.
He wanted to reach out to her, pull her close and tell her that in time the loss would diminish. How can I know the depths of her suffering? Nevertheless, he did know pain like hers. He’d lost someone very dear to him.
Elise rested her hand on the long bundle she’d laid on the polished dining table. “I believe we are safe from any outside attack, but I must do this now.” She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “My grandfather was chieftain of our people, the Neglafem. His task was to keep the sacred histories of Nuadaim. I was to succeed him as chieftain one day.
“In fact, my formal training was to begin on the day of my twentieth birthday, just under two months from now.” She paused to control her tears. “But since my grandfather was killed before he began my training, I am left at a distinct disadvantage in preparing the king for his duties.” She gazed around the room. “But I will do my best, for Grandfather’s sake and for the sake of our people.”
Aberthol removed his heavy crown and laid it on the table.
She took a deep breath and began to walk around the mausoleum, her determined expression indicating she needed this task as some kind of catharsis, a way to direct her pain into another avenue. She would have to grieve, but not now.
Letting go takes time.
“The painting behind each sarcophagus depicts the most important event in the life of the one entombed below. They are your ancestors—eight rulers of Nuadaim stretching back in time from your father to Lexuije Mqueg himself. You are the ninth. Someday, if you pass from this world, a painting will adorn the wall above your tomb, depicting an event of significance in your life.”
“But how can you be sure? How do you know I am—?”
“How do I know? How do I know all our hopes have been founded on a lie?” She turned and strode to Aberthol’s empty sarcophagus, her long gown slowing her only slightly. “My grandfather first brought me here when I was six years old. He told me not to be afraid. Then he pulled the lid back and held me up so I could peer inside.” Her hand gripped the coffin.
“I looked into the dark opening and saw a face, a man still as stone.” She turned to him. “He appeared no different then than he does now. His features—your features—were burned within my mind.
“For the next fourteen years, my grandfather told me stories of your greatness. He filled me with hope and wonder for a future in which you would rule. When I would run free in sunlight—when a broken world would be mended.” She no longer fought the tears that streamed down her cheeks. “As a young girl I dreamed of being your queen. I was convinced I had a purpose, that I would matter.”
She glared at him. “My grandfather believed you were the savior we needed. Somehow Nuadaim was sick, and you were its healer. He had hope for a future in which we no longer needed to hide in holes in the ground, in which we would be free to live as we desired. He even believed you would bring a time when death itself had no hold upon us.”
She laughed under her breath. “My grandfather was a fool. You are nothing more than a weak creature we have wasted generations tending.”
Elise pushed past him and stomped toward the door. She stopped when a scream filled the mausoleum.
“The chambers have been breached,” a voice yelled from stairwell. “Dark creatures invade the halls.”
Aberthol followed as she rushed to the door. Erbin, one of Aberthol’s squires, ran toward them. Blood streamed down his left temple.
“Flee. They are coming for the king.” He had just reached the door when his face convulsed with pain. He looked down, grasped the bloodied shaft of an arrow protruding from his chest, and fell to the ground, revealing his slayer some yards behind.
The large lizard-like creature, dressed in glossy crimson armor, lowered his bow and ran toward them.
“The door,” Elise screamed.
The pair pushed their weight behind the heavy stone. Aberthol sensed some other creature beyond, and just before they shut the door a foul-smelling hand thrust through the narrow opening. Sharp talons as long as Aberthol’s forearm rattled against the stone, swirling with inky red mist. The arm undulated in and out of solidity in the boiling dark smoke.
Elise pulled the sword from Aberthol’s scabbard. “Lexuije Mqueg mzheth thapo.” With strength greater than her small frame implied she swept the sword down, severing the hand at the wrist.
A tremendous gurgling wail split the air as the creature yanked back what remained of its arm, and Aberthol closed the door. Its locks clicked into place.
For a moment, the long red talons of the severed hand continued to twitch. Then the smoke clinging to its oily skin swirled around it and dissipated into thin air. The hand with its sharp claws was gone—left in its place, a small pile of dark gray ash.
The thumping of many steel-shod feet and the clanking of armor replaced the unnatural howls of pain beyond the door.
Elise searched around the room, her eyes wide, and shoved the sword into Aberthol’s hand. “Grab a lantern and fetch the oilskin.”
She dashed to the table, opened the cloth bundle, and pulled out a leather pack and another sword. She slung the pack over her shoulder and ran down the rows of stone coffins to the one that held Heulfryne Nauile.
A loud boom echoed in the room as those outside attempted to breach the door.
“Here... this is the place.” She ran her hand over the painting. “Study the scene. Memorize all you can... quickly.”
Aberthol knew the mural—a man standing with sword raised high, a look of determination filling his face. My Father. “I have studied this for hours. I am not sure what you—”
“Good. Stand back.” Hitching up her dress, Elise put one knee on the sarcophagus above the entombed king’s head and raised her sword high. She brought the hilt down on the wall, hitting the painted image of Heulfryne Nauile squarely in the face. A hollow thud greeted her stroke and created a small hole in the fresco. “Help me.”
He glanced toward the door. Crimson smoke slithered in around the cracks, and the stone shuddered under another blow. He jumped forward and smashed the pommel of his sword against the wall. Within moments, they created an opening big enough to squeeze through.
Darkness filled the hole.
Elise grabbed the lantern and oilskin and, with a deep breath, climbed through.
The cracking of the stone door gave Aberthol the incentive he needed to follow.
The pair entered a rough-hewn tunnel with a low ceiling. The walls were rounded, as if a giant worm had eaten downward through the limestone. They traveled about a hundred paces before the tunnel divided into two, one going up to the right and one down to the left.
They both glanced back when the door gave way with a crash.
“Faster.” Elise dashed down the left passageway.
Aberthol, who was a head taller, did his best to keep up in the low-ceilinged tunnel.
Screams of anger erupted from above when their attackers discovered their escape, and not long after heavy footsteps drummed behind them.
The tunnel branched several more times. Elise muttered under her breath and with only the slightest hesitation took one turn or the other. “These paths were designed to confuse anyone not familiar with t
heir course. Soon our pursuers will be completely lost.”
Aberthol felt some comfort but was even more relieved to hear the echoes behind grow distant. In time, the sound of pursuit faded completely.
Elise slowed to a brisk walk. “It is fortunate you find yourself with a steward of the heir. My grandfather taught me a little song that directs our path.” A slight smile played across her face. “This is the current stanza:
“To the left to find the way to save,
Then right, then right thine task is grave.
Then follows again a left times three.
A right will bring rest to thee.”
“Without this song, those who follow are lost forever.”
After a period of stumbling along in the near dark, he was relieved when the tunnel opened into a small room.
Elise lifted the lantern, and the flickering light played over a pool of water. A spring—merely a trickle—rolled down one wall, filling a depression in the floor before running off into a crack on the opposite wall.
“A place of rest.” She pulled out a tin cup from her pack, dipped it into the water, and handed it to Aberthol. “Here... it is safe.”
He tried to pass it back to her. “No, you first.”
She glared at him. “You are the king. I must serve you. Drink.”
He was about to protest, but saw she was in no mood to debate. He drank the water, which was almost painfully cold.
“Drink your fill,” she said. “I will have some when you are finished.” She sat on the stone floor, placed the backpack in her lap, and inspected the contents. “This should be food enough to last us nearly a week if we are careful.”
When he’d drunk all he needed, he handed the cup to Elise.
She drank deeply.
“Did you think we would be attacked?” said Aberthol.
She looked at him, puzzled.
He indicated the pack. “You had supplies, as if you knew we would need to escape.”
“It is the duty of the Neglafem to protect the king. We are prepared for every eventuality.”