The rocks were slick and slippery on the rock wall outside. Jaremy and Ashleigh followed, and Daniel peered over the edge and saw that the water was close enough to touch. “Slip, and I will not swim after you.”
He hugged the wall and gripped any natural handholds the sheer wall afforded, and hammered spikes into the rock as he made his way across. Instinctively, he breathed deeply as he crossed, and sighed audibly upon the stone ladder. Ashleigh and Jaremy did not utter a word, but stared ominously up at the incline.
Daniel gripped the stone rungs with iron-studded leather gloves, took each step slowly, carefully, never lifting a foot lest he was sure his other held strong. Refusing to look down, he pushed his body hard against the rock; iron replacing stone where water pooled. There was no oasis so welcoming when he saw the grass top.
Not much later, the others joined him on the overhanging cliff. The flat seemed clear for a couple miles, but towards the north he knew there would be a thin tree line, yielding to a small forest no more than three miles wide. Even though he outpaced his companions, it was not long before he heard their quips and jabs at each other, and occasionally at him.
When he reached the outlying woodlands, he threw his bag down near a rock outcropping. The others did the same, and then they unslung their bows, and filled their quivers.
“Aerona was not wrong about the beasts that we should not hunt,” Daniel reminded them. “They tend to roam the thicker, denser woods further south. We are here for small game: rabbits, birds, squirrels and the like. Look for the burrows in the ground and towards the tree tops. Never lose sight of the tree line.”
“Heh, no one to oppose you if some ravenous monster ate me,” Ashleigh said as she ran off towards the forest.
“Keep an eye on her,” Daniel told Jaremy as he went off after her, west by south-west. When they were both lost to sight, Daniel hiked towards the north-west.
The forest floor was wet, and covered by a dense thicket of leaves: red, orange and yellow in hue. He began clearing a small pile of leaves to his right, unwinding a small, snapping snare, and buried it under the foliage. Carefully tracing his steps in a north-west arc, he watched the ground for signs of recent traffic, and carefully set a few more traps.
He took short, silent steps, wandering south by south-west, hiding behind bushes and fallen trees, listening to any sound in the air. He heard the humming of birds, the swaying of leaves in the wind, but occasionally there would a crumpling sound of depressed roots and dirt. When it was silent again, he moved towards it.
He found himself near a short clearing, peering behind a thick maple tree. Then he heard the crumpling sound again as a fat brown rabbit bounced around, digging beneath roots and trees and earth. He picked up a handful of leaves with his right hand, and let the wind slowly blow them away from his loose fingers. Then, withdrawing an arrow from his quiver and nocking it, he sat there waiting for the rabbit to lift his head from the ground. When it did and glanced to the side, he loosed the arrow, and took it through the eye.
Daniel walked silently towards his prey and deposited the carcass in the bag over his right shoulder. He knelt close to the ground under the cover of trees and foliage and listened for the slightest of movements. Hearing the creaking of a branch, he looked up, saw a fat squirrel bouncing around. It stopped moving for a moment, lifted its nose to smell the air, and fled atop tree branches towards the south. Not long after, he heard the flurried retreat in the trees above.
Smart rodent.
He continued his hunting loop in a circle. He shot another rabbit, and he managed to smash in the heads of a few squirrels. Eventually, he returned to where he set his snares. There was one rabbit, though the other traps were untouched.
So much for my instincts.
Still, the bag weighed down when he collected his prey, and he made his way south.
He saw a clean, narrow stream that seemed to divide the forest in half. Down upon one knee, he cupped his hands and splashed water on his face, before drinking a few mouthfuls. It was cool, if tart. Refreshed, he unhooked a few canteens and filled them to their brink. That will do for a few days at least.
Daniel listened before moving on. The forest seemed quiet and still.
He trekked on south, listening and watching. There was not even a bird song on the air. It was like that for the last half a mile. Then, he heard a faint whisper on the wind. It did not come from nature, he knew, but from his fellow hunters. One from the wastelands, the other a commoner from the city. My help. Sadly, it was not the patter of footsteps, patterned breathing, or brushing against bark, but whispered arguments. The Deep Below take the bastards.
“Are you daft or just witless, Jaremy? This is not what I meant by dying with sword in hand.”
“It is sleeping, Ashleigh! Look. Our bags are light, and that will give us more meat than we could hope for. I will take the shot, if you will not.”
“So it can mangle me after it claws your face off? You are daft Jaremy, as daft as—”
“Lower your voices,” Daniel said softly, crawling up behind them. He looked out at the flat clearing, well shaded from arching oaks above them. A great beast slept thirty yards away. It seemed to be ten feet in length with fur black as pitch, and twelve inch-long fangs protruded from its maw. He thought it weighed as much as five men. “A black tigron. The storm must have pushed him north.”
“Alone, my lord,” Jaremy happily offered. “We cannot miss this chance.”
Is this not what I told them to avoid? Daniel sighed. “What have you caught?”
Jaremy and Ashleigh shrugged, though the latter still retained her stubbornness, insisting she had brought down a few birds.
“We will starve without it,” Daniel sighed, and looked toward Jaremy. “Circle around to the east, and climb at least thirty feet. On my mark, you will miss him.”
“Aerona will be the only one left,” Ashleigh hissed.
Daniel ignored her, and sent her off towards the west to hide amongst the bushes.
He unslung the bag of game and quiver, and threw down his bow and dirks onto the ground. He tested the sharpness of the dirks before returning them to his belt. On his left hip was his longsword. He did not know why he brought it, but was glad he did. Its length would avail him here.
He listened closely to the sighs of the land: the ruffle of leaves ceased to the east, and then the west. The tigron scratched its long, black nose, stretched its legs out as it stirred from the bed of leaves, but then went back to sleep.
Good.
Slowly rising, he took short, careful steps through the foliage, and when he reached the edge of the clearing, he flung the dirk mere inches from the beast’s mouth. It awoke instantly, but soon dodged to and fro as Jaremy shot arrows all around it. The beast’s wide, slitted eyes glared at Daniel as it charged. He held onto his longsword, not to thrust but to parry, and an arrow from the west skewered its eye, blood pouring out of it—but still charging.
The beast’s ravenous, yellow teeth bit down upon his steel, wrenching it free. Rolling to the right, he brought his dirk along the beast’s side, spilling blood from a gaping wound. Arrows still flew from the east, but the tigron ignored it, flailing desperately, sniffing the air, venom in its eyes. He turned towards the west, and the beast took an arrow through the other eye, but still he leapt towards him.
“Feather it!” Daniel screamed.
Arrows pierced its body, the tigron leaping furiously everywhere. Blindness seemed to be the only thing that kept the beast breathing. Daniel dashed towards the beast, but the beast picked up his scent and leaped high. Fear and need pushed him to his back as he thrust the sword up, turning his face away from the descending beast. There was a deafening cry as slobber and blood crept down on his hands. The tigron’s throat was pierced by his long sword, the tip exiting its skull.
“I hope that was worth it,” Ashleigh said dismissively while he cleaned his blade of blood, brains, and slobber. Before he could reply, she gathered the game bag
, stalked off, striking every low-hanging branch in her path. Jaremy helped build a litter from their supplies, stashed whatever was left on top of their prey, and returned to the outcropping by the forest’s edge.
The sentinel was already plucking her birds when Daniel arrived. “The sea breeze will take most of the smell, but we dare not stay long.”
It was mid-afternoon when the squirrels and rabbits were skinned, the birds plucked, and slices of meat chopped up from the tigron. Daniel tossed the skins, bones, and bloody bits off the side of the sheer cliff. He led them back south, keeping as far from the tree line as he could, reaching the three trees on the flat plain with the last light of day fading.
“Here,” Daniel gave his own game bag to Jaremy. “Ration it and get the meat cooked. I need to see to the longboat.”
“Alone?” Ashleigh asked suspiciously.
“Yes. Alone. I will not be long.”
Daniel walked close to the tree line, peering into the oaks and maples, listening for the sounds of wild beasts. Birds chirped, insects buzzed, and there was a distant growling that he thought better to avoid.
He came to the incline that lead down towards the beach, and the dense thicket that lay behind it. Reaching through the foliage, he felt the wet wood of the longboat. Uncovering the leaves, he looked it over from prow to aft, and he was relieved to see that it was mostly undamaged. Though there was some ruined wood on the port and stern. That could be replaced with ease after a few days of sun. The sail would have to be mended and re-stitched. It is the best we could have hoped for.
Daniel covered the boat with leaves and branches, though he heard an audible groan from the sea. His hand gripped the hilt of his longsword, expecting a foe, fearing that it would be true. Steadily, he approached the shore, squinting his eyes in the fading light. The shore was rife with thrown sea creatures and shells, but there was a long cut of shorn wood to his left, a dark shape on top of it, barely moving, but for short, shallow breaths. Shipwrecked in the storm. This does not bode well.
Within ten feet of the wreck, he could see a tall, but terribly skinny man with long, dirty hair. The rags he had been dressed in were a dull brown, seaweed creeping out of the sleeves. His wrists were red slits, cut nearly to the bone.
“Do you know your name?” Daniel demanded.
The stranger groaned, as if in answer; the effort seemed to strain his chest. Daniel went to the man, turned him over, gripped him under his arms, and slowly dragged him to the sand. The man’s face was puffed up, blue, and swollen. There were welts on his ankles, and all over his body there were signs of bruising. By his right hip were long, narrow scars that could only have come from whipping and torture.
A prisoner, that much is clear. He will not die on me, not yet. Tough old man. Must have come from Dale, but what was he, what did he do? Does it matter?
Daniel fingered the grip of his long sword, drew his blade, and turned it flat, whilst the tip pierced the stranger’s throat. A slight bubble of blood seeped out. “Who are you?”
“L—groan—ord-groan—Pro—groan—tec-groan-tor.”
“Lord Protector? Ser Johnathan Falenir?” The man inclined his head slightly, followed by a pained, murmured groan.
“Do you know who I am?”
The man shook his head slightly, groaning. The tip of the blade was still on his throat.
“It is better to stay that way.”
The thin trickle of blood became a gushing river.
Chapter Six
Stone and Sky
Reuven was summoned.
He shouldered past the Deathsworn, thundering into the Seat of Creation. The gloomy hallways twisted, forking into immense antechambers and dwarfing auditoriums and libraries. The path was lit only by archaic runic symbols that pierced the endless dark, masking the ceilings above. He thought it a veritable light in the darkness; an ever-present reminder that, even against the greatest darkness, hope burned eternal.
The runes emitted a bright, beige hue, blanketing the rich, red carpet with a serene, prescient glow. His footsteps echoed in the quiet gloom, as he came to answer the summons of the First Son, the Lord Sovereign, the Immutable Light, and the Father Above: Emperor Archelaus.
Reuven, however, did not come alone.
His own hand-picked Deathsworn trailed behind. They were instructors at the Academy, and seasoned sword arms who had served for the last two decades. The days of overseers had come and gone, but they would be the ones he would pick if the order came down. Three men and two women were in their number; they spoke little, listened much, offered good counsel when it was asked for, and never questioned him. Qualities that he thought were sorely lacking among his immortal brethren.
“Reuven.” The voice seemed to snake and slither. Reuven quickly turned his head. Amos stood within the deeper shadows. His hair was cut short, black as night, and he wore draping robes dark as teak. Reuven thought his brother was like an unseen shadow: the only colour in the dark was the rheumy yellow eyes and pale flesh. “I was beginning to wonder if you would return at all. Exile suits many a man in these trying days, have you not noticed?”
“Leave us,” Reuven commanded, and his own escort departed the way they had come. Tall steel doors closed from every direction.
“I have no quarrel with you, dear brother,” Amos said softly.
“I have a quarrel with you,” Reuven shouted, gripping Amos by the front of his robes, pushing him against the near wall. “Our brothers may fear to question it, but I have seen too much to doubt your hand. I warned you that the emperor will hear of it, and he will.”
“I am our father’s loyal servant,” Amos insisted pliantly behind fierce, unwavering eyes. “All I do, I do in his name.”
“I know what you have done whilst our father turned a blind eye. Despicable enough that you would enslave our own fallen brother for fell deeds. How often must you take blood before it is too much? How much Amos? How much?”
“You mistake me.”
“I mistake nothing!” Reuven pushed his forearm against Amos’ throat. “What is your life worth, brother?”
“More than yours, as our dear brother discovered.”
The words were as putrid as venom. Reuven released Amos. “I am not Jophiel. I will not be exiled, awaiting the death you bring.”
Amos brushed the front of his robes, smiling. “You and him are strangely alike: always dreaming for what you will never achieve. No matter what is gifted, by him, or anyone else. The power he imbued you with should not be taken lightly. You are wise enough not to keep it on you, but sooner or later our father will learn the desert is less than it was. Who will he blame, then? You speak of blood. What of the blood that will stain your hands? When our brother dies, will you mourn him as you do these strangers?”
Reuven did not want to admit it, but Amos had cut to the heart of the matter. A foolish cut, even for him. If Jophiel perishes, so shall he. “When did you share concern for aught but your own?”
“Dear brother, you wound me. I care only for the children borne of his loins.”
“Is that why women and children were splayed against stone? Men hung from trees, and pierced on spikes? Is that why Lanan’s streets run red with blood? I know what it is that you are after, and if our father will not stop you, I will.”
“I pursue only what we should have sought all those millennia ago. What we were too weak to seize. You, too, plead to him for help, albeit in ignorance. Now, we are not ignorant, yet you would pretend that we are, trapped in a helpless fantasy.”
“You are more deluded now than you ever were, brother.”
“Do you truly know what I have seen?” Reuven did not answer. He would not encourage Amos. “I have seen a realm without overseers and servitors, war and torture. I have seen a realm without fear, regret, and sorrow.” The pupils of Amos’ eyes seemed to widen, as if an epiphany struck him. “It is not drear, nor is the end the wretched thing you seem to despise. It is everything you ever wanted. There will be no mor
e need of imperators and overlords, kings and high priestesses. Nor of Deathsworn and Faithsworn. Ascension is near.”
“Father—”
“Knows the path we must walk. As should you. If you can stop running.”
Light and Darkness as one, interchangeable, indiscernible; an obliteration of the chains that have bound us since the dawn of days. A philosopher’s dream: impractical, and worthless. “Madness.” Reuven replied.
“Is it truly mad to desire what was once taken from our hands as we wash away the dirt? Is that not why father holds onto so many keepsakes from that time? I know you recall the bliss and the serenity. The peace. Do you not long for it?”
“When I desire dreams and fancies, I sleep, Amos. The stones changed everything. It does us no good to wish for otherwise.”
“A gift freely given, willingly taken, is life anew, and not a slayer of spirit.”
“What did you—”
Amos shrugged his shoulders. “I heard it once. Mayhap I saw it in a play, or read it in some novel. It has always stuck with me. You should commit it to memory, brother. I will do what I can to recall the author.”
You do that, brother. “While you read, I will be watching you.”
Amos shrugged his shoulders, and gathered the thick, leather bound tomes. Strolling down the southern hall, he softly said, “One more piece of advice, if I may. Do not let him see the Heart of the Sand.”
Nor will I allow you.
Reuven continued his trek down the straight, northern hallways, waving away guards and escorts. He emerged into a widened, circular chamber with intricately engraved symbols upon the floor in the shape of a clock, all but what lay in the middle. At the northern end, working clockwise, it read: Sovereignty, Sky, Pyre, Cognizance, Faith, Entropy, Dominion, Subversion, Plague, Lucidity, Salvation, Twilight, and in the centre: Artifact. Only four remain sealed.
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