Empyreal (The Earthborn Series Book 1)

by Spencer Helsel

  In your debt, Nessus

  “Nessus?” Mastema asked. “The centaur?”

  “ Yes.” She folded the letter, smiling. “I met him today. Do you know him? He’s sweet.”

  He nodded, frowning. “Sweetness is but another form of weakness.”

  “You must be a hit at parties.”

  “This is serious, Novice. Those who dwell within the Vale and those who dwell without are not meant to interact in such ways. I know you have befriended some gifted, but centaurs are forbidden from venturing beyond their borders unless allowed by the Elder Council.”

  Her mood soured, Dani walked past him into her new home. It smelled of fresh tree wood. She pressed her hand against the wall and flinched. “It feels warm. Alive.”

  “It may very well be. The planks of your home are amaranthine wood; a tree that grows in Empyrean. It’s timber is some of the finest in the world. Centaurs are masters of construction. Their homes are as much alive as they are.”

  “Meaning?”

  “There are almost no limits to what this house may provide.” “Amazing.” She marveled, running her fingers across the wall.

  He stepped inside. “Novice, friendship with non-Numen will cause you misery.”

  Even her new home couldn’t brighten what Mastema dimmed. “I really don’t have time for this.”

  “Make time.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass. You know that, right?”

  “Am I? I was unaware. For now, we must train.”

  She shook her head. “Train? I’m exhausted. Can we do this another day? I have a new house and I’d like to sleep in it.”

  He walked around to her new pavilion. Dani followed through the house.

  “You survived the first test.” He said. “That was a fluke, despite surprising me, Novice.”

  “I have a name, you know.”

  “Until such time you earn one, you will simply be Novice.” He unhooked his sword from his belt and placed in a hold next to the door. “Your training is just beginning.”

  “Great. Super. Piss off.” She wasn’t going to take this from him.

  Then Mastema, with a single move, drew something from the small of his back. He spun and threw. Dani flinched as something smacked into the wood inches from her head.

  A knife nearly took her ear off.

  “Are you insane?” she screamed. “You could have hit me!”

  “You have a talking problem.” He grunted. “Recognize it?”

  The question caught her off guard. “What?”

  “Do you recognize the blade that nearly took your life?” he came over and yanked it from the doorframe, holding it up to her eye. The dagger was nearly as long as her forearm, double-edged and made out of adamantine.

  “It’s my knife from the Vale.” She said.

  “Correction, it is the knife I chose for you to carry into the Vale. I had to retrieve it from a wolf that did not surrender it lightly. I would appreciate, in the future, that you not give my gifts to foes.”

  “Gift?” she got in his face, angry. “You gave me a knife to fight centaurs, werewolves and gigantic lions!”

  “And you were better suited for it.”

  “How?”

  “Did you not pay attention? I would have thought you were more observant. All Novices carried large weapons they eventually lost.” Mastema pointed out. “It slowed them down. As a lesson, their Guardians purposefully put them at a disadvantage. I did not. I gave you the only weapon you could sensibly wield. If you had a sword, would it have done you any service?”

  She wanted to argue, but couldn’t. Truth was, nothing would have helped her.

  “Exactly.” Mastema saw her expression. “You did not need to learn about disadvantages. In that regard, you are already ahead of your peers. You understand living against the odds. It is your one advantage.”

  She huffed. “Am I supposed to thank you?”

  “You are supposed to, but I do not expect it.”

  She hated this guy. She hated his guts. And he was supposed to be her teacher? “So the whole test was a set up? The Elders wanted us to nosedive?”

  “Failure, Novice, is the first step to victory.”

  “You sound like a fortune cookie.” She clenched her hands into fists. “People laughed at me. They thought I was pathetic!”

  “And you care what others think of you?”

  She was angry with him. She was angry at herself. She was angry at the whole freaking mountain full of freaking misogynistic morons! And yet all she could do was argue with some unflappable, demented Obi-Wan.

  “One of my friends,” she grumbled, a bad taste in her mouth, “chose to sacrifice me when he thought the cynocephali would kill us.”

  Mastema dismissed it. “You think it reflects on you?”

  “No.”

  “Lie. You believe it whole-heartedly. And you are a fool to believe it.” He strode past her to a wooden chest in the corner. “What others believe is of no consequence to you.”

  “So I don’t get to have friends?”

  “You never did.” He knelt and flipped the locks on the crate. “Accept this as truth now, or perish believing a lie. No one here will be your friend. They can be your ally, they can be a tool, but never a friend. Centaurs, gifted, Numen; no one stands by your side for long. The Elders branded you an outsider. You will remain an outsider. No amount of good deeds will change it.”

  Dani shook her head. “You are just all sunshine and rainbows, aren’t you?”

  Mastema said nothing and opened the crate. “What kind of name is that, anyway? Mastema. Is it African?”

  “I am a moor,” he said, rummaging through the contents, “but it is not my given name. In life, before my ascension here, I was a marauder. I pillaged from childhood until the day I was taken.” He indicated his sword on the hook. “I carried this weapon, the khopesh, and used it to bring death. So terrible was I that those I attacked gave me this name. Mastema.”

  “What does it mean?” she asked.

  “It is the name of evil in their native tongue; a harbinger of disaster, destruction and persecution. They gave it to me as a symbol of what I had become. In penance, I have lived with it since to remind myself of what I am.” He turned towards her, the dark glare in his eye like liquid, black fire. “We pretend to be of light, Novice. We are not. Understanding this is a gift. To have no illusions of goodness provides us a path, but a hard path. It is a path we do not choose, but are forced upon. You are on that path, as am I.”

  This was her Guardian? This was the guy they found to train her? His name literally meant evil and death.

  “Why don’t you have a Novice?”

  “I have you.”

  “Why not before me?” she remembered Judah saying something about Mastema not being trusted. “Why were you the only one available?”

  “There are other Guardians who do not have charges yet.”

  “Yet being the operative word. What’s wrong with you?”

  Instead of answering, Mastema reached into the crate and withdrew a long bowstaff taller than Dani. He tossed it to her and she barely caught it. “We begin training.”

  “What? Now?” she asked. “I can barely stand!”

  “Perfect. Exhaustion breeds skill.”

  Then he attacked.

  ______________________

  To say training didn’t go well would be an u nderstatement. To say Mastema beat her nearly senseless was an understatement. Hell, to say she learned nothing seemed to be the only accurate way to describe her training.

  He instructed her how to plant her feet and face her opponent. With the bowstaff held like a spear, he attacked with the forward tip. Once or twice she connected hers to his and blocked a blow, but usually he swept out her legs or struck her in the ribs or hit her so hard across the face she saw stars. She ended up on her back so many times it was aggravating, then only to look up to find the man standing over her, demanding, “Get up. We go again.”

  He
was a taskmaster. He was a Nazi. He was Hell on wheels. His name suited him.

  Night fell. Mastema lit torches for light. Dani moved, keeping her

  feet steady, never losing sight of him. He didn’t use the veil. His staff hurtling around his arms and body, mastering the art of beating her into the floorboards effectively. More than once he struck her hard enough that when she blocked, the vibration was painful. Her palms ached. If she didn’t block, she got bruises; body, arms, shoulders, everywhere. One decorated the back of her hand in black and purple and puke green.

  For the umpteenth time, Mastema faced her. He attacked, point of the staff thrusting out towards her face. She deflected, dodging left. He struck again. Again, she dodged.

  “Stand and fight!” he ordered.

  “No way!” she cursed as his stave smacked her exposed thigh, nearly tumbling her to the ground.

  “Coward.”

  He spun, gripping the bow by the end and whipping the other around high. She ducked and the wooden pole sliced past her head. She rolled across the pavilion against a support post. Mastema leapt after her.

  Swinging, he sneered. “Many would see your gutless retreat as just another woman cowering in the face of men!”

  Mid-twirl, the stick came up from under his arm in an upward strike. She bounced back, avoiding it again.

  “Will you cower, Novice?”

  “Forget you!” she struck back. Mastema blocked easily.

  “Is that all you bring to this fight?” he struck again, missing but herding her against the column. He bared his teeth. “Try not to waste my time much more. This is tiring.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder at the column. Mastema continued to twirl the bow tauntingly. She got an idea, but didn’t know if it would work.

  “Ready to submit, Novice? Then I can tell the Elders what a pathetic waste of time you truly are.”

  She gripped the bow in both hands. She’d seen Mastema do this. Could she? “Well, come get some,” she bared her teeth, “moor.”

  She knew the word was offensive. She halfway payed attention in ancient history class. The word was one step down from the n-word.

  He stopped twirling, bringing the staff up and around, striking horizontally. Dani ducked, turning, bringing her own rod around as she spun in a wide arc. The long end arched out and using her momentum, she swung around the torch. As Mastema’s bow connected with the support of the pavilion, smacking the wood and blocking his strike, her own came round and collided hard with the side of his knee.

  He screamed in pain.

  Dani felt a surge of satisfaction as he stumbled. She rose up, giddy to see the pain on his face.

  “How about that?” she crowed.

  Mastema’s lip curled in disgust.

  He flipped his weapon up to both hands and swung blindingly fast. He’d been holding back. This was too quick to block. The end of the rod connected with her temple and things went black.

  ______________________

  She sputtered awake. Her head lay back against a folded piece of cloth on the edge of a tub; her tub. She was in her new house. She coughed, accidentally inhaling water that tasted like salt and iron.

  She tried to wipe the flavor off her tongue. She was still dressed, but her raiments were soaked through and did little to wipe off the taste.

  Kneeling next to her, Mastema frowned. “Do not splash me.”

  “What happened?”

  “You fell unconscious.”

  “To hell with that! You knocked me out!”

  “Yes.” He replied calmly. “You are welcome.”

  “For almost putting me in the hospital?”

  “For putting you in the bath of panacea.”

  The murky water’s surface was a fine white film, as if he added something to it. It was tasted awful. “What is this stuff?”

  “Panacea.” He explained. “It is a universal healing elixir. It may be drunk or applied directly to wounds.”

  “Like hell it is—!” but then she saw her hands. The scrapes and bruises from today were gone. Nothing but unblemished skin remained. No cuts. She touched her temple. No pain.

  “What is this?”

  “I just explained.”

  “No you didn’t.” she stood, thankful to still be in her clothes but hating they were wet and stinky. “What is panacea?”

  Mastema stood. He offered her a cloth towel, which she used to dab her face. “Panacea is a healing elixir made by our alchemists. Over time, it can heal almost any wound. It can be the difference between living and perishing in battle. It may even prevent death.”

  “You can bring the dead back to life?”

  “It can bring you from the brink of death, but not death itself. Listen more carefully in the future, Novice.” He turned on his heel and stalked out the door. “There are more raiments next to the basin for you. Inform me when you are redressed.”

  She peeled off her wet clothes and changed into fresher ones. Once dry, she felt cleaner than before. She hadn’t showered in two days, which was gross, but panacea did more than heal, apparently.

  She walked out into the square. Her Guardian sat on the rim of the fountain. He chewed something that looked like a cross between a gigantic cracker and bread.

  He extended a piece to her. “Eat.”

  She accepted it and took a bite. It tasted delicious. She quickly devoured the whole wafer. “I’m so hungry.” She said with her mouth full.

  “Panacea speeds up your healing. You burn more calories that way and thus, become more hungry. I’m glad you have a source of food here, now.”

  “Ugh!” she grunted. “If only I had fish tacos!”

  “Fish what?”

  “Fish tacos! Come on! You’ve never had fish tacos?”

  “No.”

  She accepted another piece and chewed slower this time. She might be living in a derelict village with ancient toiletries, but she didn’t have to act like a caveman. Screw being lady-like, but she was going to be halfwaycivilized. They silently ate for a bit. Dani smiled at Mastema, if nothing but to tease him.

  “What?” he finally asked. “Cease your amusement. What do you smile at me for?”

  “I got you.” She told him, savoring the biscuit. “You got cocky and I got you with my staff. It was a nice trick, wasn’t it?”

  “You believe that after hundreds of years of combat, I did not see that attack coming?”

  Now it was her turn to frown. “You let me hit you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Liar.”

  “I would not expect a Novice with no training to stand against a warrior. No one should expect it of you.”

  “Heman does.”

  “Elder Heman.” He corrected. “And he was proving a point.”

  “That he’s got the conscience of a snake?”

  “That failure is needed to understand reality. You’ll face challenges and hardships. You must learn inner strength.”

  “You’re sweet.” She sneered.

  “I see you choose wit instead of strength.” He stood. “You did well today. I watched your progress.”

  “You watched me? How?”

  He frowned again. “Is that not obvious?”

  “Uh…how does no grab ya?” But she smiled. “But thank you. At least someone gives praise.”

  Then he ruined it. “You had luck on your side. You barely escaped the centaurs and if the Tigris wanted to devour you, it would have.”

  She frowned the Grand Canyon of frowns. “I was lucky? Forget that! I came up with a good plan. I got us through!”

  “Only to be captured.” Mastema reminded her. “And this time you were not in physical danger. The Hellions of the Vale fight for Empyrean. And the Tigris is trained not to devour human flesh.”

  “Trained? How do you train a twenty foot lion?”

  Mastema lectured on, ignoring her. “Novice, you will understand one day that no amount of victories can free you of failure. Just as no amount of failure can keep
you from victory. Situations are neither hopeless nor hopeful. They are what you make them. Be vigilant. You must learn to listen to guidance, whether it comes from a source you respect or not. Hated or not, your Elders do know how to train you. So do I.”

  “What? By whacking me with sticks?”

  “Training cannot come from books.” He told her. “It comes from experience. It comes from practice. We can provide both. If you listen, you will learn. If you learn, you will survive.”

  He marched back to the pavilion of her house with Dani following behind. Placing the staves inside the chest with other assorted training tools, he withdrew several large, dusty books. Elder Atid in the Anthenaeum called them tomes.

  “What are those for?”

  “For you to study.”

  Smartly, she said. “I thought you said training doesn’t come from books?”

  “No, but knowledge still does.” He stacked them one at a time into her arms. “And I do not train brainless Novices.”

  “Jeez, what the hell are all these?”

  “Ars Goetia.” The first tome felt like a ton of bricks. The second was two tons. “The Infernal Dictionary. The Lesser Key of Solomon.” That was one of the heaviest ones. “The Testament of Solomon. The works of Zoroaster. The Magical Papyrus. The Summoner’s Guide. And the Malleus Maleficarum, though this is the real edition and not that nonsense passed around on Earth.” He laid the scrolls on top. “And these are just light reading to help you along.”

  She struggled to hold them up. “Light reading?”

  “They are the basics of demonology, summoning and magic that you will need.”

  “Magic?”

  “Yes. Magic. Most of the other aeries have their own copies. You do not. I took these out of the Anthenaeum on my own. Try not to lose them.”