The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains

by Jason R Jones

  Shinayne kept her elven shortblade pointed into Kaya’s back from under her dark cloak, pointed ears listening all directions, aquamarine eyes watching everything as the sun rose from the west over decrepit spires. “Neither. She will come with us to get Saberrak, help us escape this city, and then we part ways. Or, she can die here and now.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Press your luck then, lady of Southwind Keep.”

  “I will not go back down there, not for you or anyone. I am dead if I do, so you might as well kill me.”

  “Then turn left down this alley.” Shinayne said coldly.

  “You are bluffing elf, I am not so easy to trick. You are no murderer.”

  Shinayne stepped ahead, grabbed Kaya by the neck, and marched her into the alley on the left. She slammed her captive into the stone wall, adding a few more cracks to its ruinous existence. The curved elven blade was tipped between Kaya’s ribs on her left side, inches from the heart with a simple thrust. James stepped in close, wide-eyed and nervous.

  “Shinayne?” James whispered.

  “Now listen here---“ Whispering in anger through her clenched jaw and gritted teeth, Shinayne used her free hand to tear the black cloth over Kaya’s shoulder, turned her, then slammed her face into the wall again. She looked down at the bare flesh, noting the brand she expected to see, the brand of a spider. “--- listen to me, spiderwench, I have just a few choice words. First, we have escaped Vallakazz, Valhirst, an Altestani warship, Saint Erinsburg, and the dragons of Bailey. You telling me there is no escape from Devonmir means nothing. Second, the White Spider is behind or involved in most of those perilous escapes, in as much as they were the ones trying to kill us. So, I have no bones about ending your life here to protect my own. And third, my friend, our friend, Saberrak the Gray is down there. A slave, captured or sold, maybe already dead, but down there he is. You shared your keep with us, we dined together, and like it or not, you will help me get him out. I do not know why you are with them, what part you have in this, but you can get us in and out, and that is precisely what you will be doing, are we clear?!”

  Kaya turned to Shinayne, both of them had tears of anger, frustration, pain, and sorrow streaming down their cheeks. She had nothing to live for, hunted by her own guild, wanted for treason in her homeland, and besides herself there was no enemy left to kill. Only those that stood in the way of freedom remained, hers or anyone else’s, it mattered not for the former lady of Southwind. She sniffled, wiped her eyes, unable to keep the furious gaze of Shinayne, she bowed her head. “Agreed.”

  James let his breath out, he had been holding it since Shinayne turned into the alley, fearing the elf had gone mad and truly intended on killing Kaya T’Vellon. “Well, I am glad that is settled then.”

  “Do not speak to me, James Andellis. I have hated you for over half my life, and there is no end in sight for that hatred.” Kaya put her chin back up a little closer to where it belonged.

  “Why, because you were too young to fight alongside your father in Arouland? Or because I was there, tormented and sent as a message by the ogre, and you would have preferred I were dead with Lord Arlinne?” James felt sick even discussing the battle so many years ago.

  “No, it is that you never told us anything and ran off with his blade, like the coward you---“

  Crash, crack, aaahhhh, whoosh, crack!

  The three of them ducked down, James and Shinayne drawing blades and Kaya reaching for where hers should have been as the street in front of them exploded from inside a tavern or an inn. Glass flew from the inside out, bodies hurled across the dirty and muddy streets, tables and chairs crashed into the other side of the road and into other buildings with dread force. People screamed, bones broke, and the buildings moaned as some force of hellish wind tossed the air and debris for hundreds of feet in every direction.

  The dust cleared a little, the noise faded into echo, the people that survived cried in agony and screamed in terror as the Huntsman Inn began to collapse on early morning in the shadow of itself. Two figures were running through the dusty haze of what was Messiah Street in northern Devonmir.

  “That was more than unnecessary lady Lazlette, uncalled for! By Vundren you will---“

  “I was a bit surrounded, dwarf, keep your beard shut and let us find---“

  “Gwenneth, Azenairk! What is going on?” Shinayne turned as they ran past, confused as to what possibly could have happened at the seedy little inn to cause such a catastrophe.

  “Western gate, we have to hurry, the White Spider is on to us and one of their spies got away! A whore named Velvet, surely going to rat our location.” Gwenneth did a double glance as they met in mid turn to all head away from the explosion. “Kaya T’Vellon?”

  “Lady Lazlette.” Kaya bowed to Gwenne as they turned to run as well. A sick knot twisted in her stomach.

  “Lady Lazlette is my mother, unlike the whore that you and your brother came from. If I allow you to speak to me, you will call me Gwenneth.” Gwenne kept to a brisk walk, turning left then right with purpose down the sidestreets.

  “Did I miss something here? I thought Gwenne only hated me.” James sheathed his broadsword, which was part instinct as danger was getting further away, and part intentional as it soured Gwenne’s mood to see the magicked steel reminder of her dead father.

  “Your father left your mother, then met mine in Southwind. Do not confuse the truth with your high and mighty fantasies Gwenneth.” Kaya had dreamt of what she would say to Gwenneth Lazlette if they had ever met outside of noble functions and court growing up. It was not as she had romanced.

  “Enough, I have half my mind to wallop the both of ye’, now where are we heading and where is Saberrak?” Zen gruffed from under his hood, shaved head and black beard sweating in his effort to keep pace.

  “Wait a moment, hold on.” James stopped, he too sweating from the sun over Devonmir, being further north it was warmer in summer than he was used to. The breeze of Chazzrynn would be cooling his brown hair and beard now, but the wind here in the city was nonexistent. He struggled for air, then spoke his mind. “So, the two of you share the same father then, so you are half sisters?”

  “I am going to throw up. James, do not ever say I am related to this whore of the south. What in the world is she doing here anyway?” Gwenneth stopped, putting her back to an old rotten wood building as the sound of guards and horseman could be heard on the main streets not too far off.

  “She is going to help us get in, get Saberrak, and get out.” Shinayne drew her blades to check the edges, Carice and Elicras, perfectly matched elven weapons.

  “How could she help? Does she have contacts in the White Spider? Seriously Shinayne, she is a rural swordslinger who inherited her title and ruined her family name through her open legs. Kaya T’Vellon cannot help us with anything.” Gwenneth stared at Kaya, her green eyes flaring at the daughter of her most hated woman in the world, the dead woman that stole her father away so many years ago.

  “She is, or was, one of them with some rank it seems. She has agreed on her life to help. Now, what do you have from your hours with the sergeant of the guard?” The elven swordswoman sheathed her gifts from the dragon, Ansharr, and took a knee in the alley.

  “Ye’ mean the dead sergeant.” Zen gruffed.

  “That was not me, Zen, and you know it. As for Kaya, I would act shocked if it would please anyone, but I am afraid that I am not the least surprised. So has it been you sending thugs and killers after us? How involved have you been, Kaya?”

  “Gwenneth, now is not the time, think of Saberrak down there.” Zen took a knee next to the elven noble, followed by James.

  “I have not been involved, though I did try and steal your horses and the scroll many months ago back in Chazzrynn. Other than that, I have had nothing to do with you, until now.” Kaya took a knee.

  “And let me remind you, you still have nothing to do with us. Your presence sickens me, so when this is over, I sincerel
y hope you vanish for good.”

  “Agreed, and the feeling is truly, deeply mutual, sister.”

  “Don’t ever dare to call me---“

  “Enough! Vundren have mercy on my ears! Put yer teeth together ladies, kill each other later if ye must. I want to save my friend now, the horned warrior that is blessed by that scroll or Annar or whatnot it is or isn’t. Understood?” Zen thudded his hammer into the dirt with a bit of force, breaking a bit of tension as the mud splattered his black beard with spots of brown. “Aaarghh! Now see what you done? Mud all over my beard.”

  “That might not be mud.” James sniffed the air.

  “That does indeed smell unlike mud. Now, Kaya, ideas?” Shinayne smiled, trying to concentrate on how to find her horned friend.

  “Very well, if we go in, I take the lead. There are a few shortcuts, passwords, and weak guards that I can get past faster than you can. I know who to bribe, who not to, and who to kill quick.” Kaya pulled her mask up, her eyes steel cold blue, just as before any mission or any kill. “Saberrak has a match in just a few hours, he is fighting with another minotaur named Chalas against a two-headed ogre. He is a slave in the arena below the arena, Ajastaphan. Getting in and out in time before the event will mean we leave now, and it is absolutely insane I might add.”

  “I was told to head underground and keep going left and down until I find this place called Ajastaphan Arena, under the known arena. My information was from the dead sergeant of the guard.” Gwenne shot back to Kaya, breathing slower and trying not to think of the minotaur as a slave.

  “Accurate for the most part, until we get deep inside that is.” The glance of superiority was returned by the former lady of Southwind.

  “Very well, we follow the ladies down inside, cut our way in. Gwenneth, you take out any archers and keep us protected. Zen, do not let anyone flank us or trap us from behind. We break into the arena, cause a commotion in the crowd, but keep moving and keep Saberrak covered.” James squinted, pushing out the thoughts of his friend, the gray horned one that had saved him several times, and the thoughts of him being whipped or forced to kill.

  “Perfect, but once we cause all this there raucous, how do we get out? And, where do we go once we get to the streets?” Zen looked to them all, rubbing his hammer and moons symbol, mouthing a prayer to God Vundren as he waited for a reply.

  “We follow the path laid out by Ansharr, the great dragon of Soujan Mountain. Stay north of the rivers and out of Willborne, yet do not follow the southern roads of Shanador due to the ogre of Bloodskull and all the travelers there. We keep east through the Misathi Mountains---“ Shinayne stopped, not wanting to give much away to Kaya, no more than she just had.

  “I know that, I mean how do we get out from under there? There must be thousands of people, hundreds of guards and worse.” Zen looked to Kaya.

  “Do not stop moving, do not flinch to kill quickly, and run like hell Azenairk Thalanaxe. Run like hell. The Lords of Devonmir are powerful wizards, they deal with demons and the dead. The moment we stop, we are all corpses.”

  “Anyone with a better plan, voice it now.” James Andellis stood up, pulled up the hood of his cloak, and waited. No one spoke.

  “Very well, Kaya and Shinayne lead us if you would. Gwenneth in the middle, Zen, you and I pull up the rear.”

  “I pray we all make it out alive, and I pray Saberrak is well and in one piece, Siril bless us.” Shinayne drew her blades, heading through alleys toward the western entrance of Tre’ Hahdim arena, one step behind Kaya T’vellon

  Zen prayed for them all, and for Saberrak as they snuck toward the west. His eyes unintentionally focusing, on and off, toward the staff carried by Gwenneth, it seemed to be watching him as he watched it. The feeling it gave him was almost some sort of hidden warning. He stared again, this time intentionally, and the runes on the staff glittered and winked toward him. The dwarven priest said an extra prayer for Gwenneth as they took turns ducking into a sewer pipe.

  “I see you, staff of Imoch, an I don’t be fearin’ any wooden magical toys now. I knows ye hear me, so ye been warned.” Zen felt better, having now whispered a threat to a staff.

  The staff flashed light from the emerald affixed to its top, letting Zen know that it did indeed hear him, and it was not intimidated in the least.

  Angeline III:I

  Temple under Soujan Mountain, Sanctum of the Goddess

  The first tree, an oak that grew grand underground where there was neither soil nor sunlight, she had come here more than seven years ago searching for an end. The inside of a mountain, one she had climbed, called by a woman’s voice and met by a man who showed her the way. Then she remembered the dragon, the Knights Soujan, and having to pass by this tree and sit on the rocks in a cavern. In the dark, she sat for days untold until she heard the voice again.

  Angeline Berren kept walking, steady breathing, eyes and feelings mindful of everything around her. The second tree, a willow, she recalled following light in there after some months training with the men. She had learned how to meditate, to listen to the voices and will of those that dwelled here. They knew what she thought and said, so she learned that prayer was unnecessary. It was simply talking out loud the things that true immortals were already well aware of. Here she told her secrets however, confessed and faced her own voice on what she had done, what she had become. She heard the will tell her to make amends for seven years, but make them in silence. Until she could communicate without words, she was still lost, so she learned how.

  The light was red like her hair, green like her robes, and peaceful like her spirit. Light from nowhere, just illumination as she stepped into the darkness alone. The third tree was ahead, rooted into the stone deep underground where Larens, her mentor, had told her it would be. A magnificent banyan tree, nearly two hundred feet tall, the trunk like a tower, and the roots were as rivers in and out of the mountain itself. Angeline touched one of the leaves from a branch, it was as big as she was, smelled sweet, and was full of life here in the dark. Walk past Angeline, just walk past and meet her. She spoke to herself, telling her mind and body what to do as the real became unreal, the physical became unimportant and everything hummed and glowed with each step she took.

  Past the tree there was another cavern, full of trees, smaller ones, growing out of the stone walls, the ceiling if there was one, and even out of the ponds that dotted the ground. Brown stone, rich and inviting and smooth, it glowed as her boots touched down and hummed to the grass. The grass hummed and whispered to the trees, and the water rippled and babbled to the air. Tiny lights came from the canopies of branches, little wings flittering and singing in a strange tongue. The song was sad at first, yet joyful sorrow somehow. A white clothed man was weeping by a bed of vines, and a woman as well.

  “I will leave you mother, I will see my brother now, but I will come back soon.” The bearded man spoke softly, but with a deep voice. He turned and walked past Angeline, his blue eyes glowing, tears wetting his face and black beard.

  “You must be Angeline of Charity, go on to my mother then.” He spoke deeply, unavoidable blue iridescent eyes trapping her attention.

  “I am Angeline, and you are?”

  “Go son, go to your father as well. I have not seen him in so long, tell him my heart please.” The woman called to her son in song, her eyes glowing green, solid green like sunlight through emeralds. Her clothing was as green vines and silks of the earth, her hair long and white. She sat up from her bed of plants, turned her head and smiled, light from her eyes looking at Angeline.

  “My child, daughter of the earth, the moons, and the Soujan. We meet at last.”

  Angeline fell to her knees, trembling, frozen with fear and awe. The woman had no eyes, only empty sockets with green light. She looked away, the man was gone, vanished.

  “Do not be afraid. You are not afraid of my voice, why fear you my presence? Is it my eyes?”

  Angeline stood, pulling on her own will, closed her eyes and conce
ntrated on banishing the fear from her conscious self. She opened them again. “Yes, great mother, I was not expecting you to look as this.”

  “Strange how we take sounds and words and turn them into images in our minds. Curious how expectation is our worst enemy. And yet you can see me for how I am, you have grown Angeline.” Seirena, the banished Goddess of the earth and life, spoke with a smile as she stepped closer to her devout servant.

  “How did this happen?”

  “My father, the creator of all, he took one of my eyes.”

  “And the other?”

  “I took it myself, giving it to the earth so I may see all my children and they may find me. Yjaros can see through my eyes, should he possess them both, so I had no choice.”

  “How?” Angeline had not expected an older woman, missing eyes, looking so frail.

  “The one he took, he placed in his forehead, for I had the gift of sight and he coveted it so. He was angry when we tricked him thousands upon thousands of years ago, when we led our people away you see.” Seirena kissed a darting sprite as it landed on her shoulder.

  “The three eyed God, the God of Gods, they worship him in the north. The great Empires of Altestan, the three dragons of the Emperors, they carry his banner and conquer in his name. Why?” Angeline felt sad, wishing she could reverse whatever had happened as if she had been there.

  Seirena took Angeline by the hand and began to walk through the grass and ponds in her home deep inside the mountain. “My child, have you ever played with toys and blocks?”

  “No great mother.”

  “Call me Seirena, I am mother to all, yet I like to hear my name on the air.”

  “Yes Seirena.” Angeline was walking on water now, her feet in step with the Goddess.

  “Have you ever baked bread or cooked and ruined the recipe or burned your dish, Angeline?”

  “Yes actually.” Angeline chuckled, remembering her first time cooking anything back in northern Kivanis as a young girl.