Valandra: The Dragon Blade Cycle (Book 2)

by Tristan Vick

  Master Kel takes me in his arms, squeezes me tight, and then kisses my forehead. I rest my head on his chest, close my eyes, and breathe in his smell. I don’t remember my real father. Master Kel raised me, and was my surrogate father. And if I had one wish, I’d wish that this moment would never end. But, alas, all good things must come to an end. Even the ones you cherish the most.

  “Now go,” he whispers. “Complete your quest and fulfill your destiny. And, if the chance should arise, think upon me fondly.”

  “I will,” I whisper. When I open my eyes, Master Kel is gone. Vanished. As a tear trickles down my dusty cheek, carving out a clean stripe of skin, I repeat, “I will. That’s a promise.”

  27

  Darkness. That’s all there is as I peer into the black mouth of the tunnel that burrows deep into the side of the cavern. All I know is that it goes downward, into the depths of the Nether Realm, where I must face my third and final challenge. A face-off with the three-headed snail, Simurgh.

  Not a lot is known about Simurgh. He is a legendary creature. There are tales of old about knights fighting the giant snail, but all that is truly known about him is that he guards the final gateway into the underworld. A world that is a bent and distorted version of our own. Where death is life and life is death.

  Knowing that there’s no turning back, I take a deep breath and step into the dark void. The walls are dank and clammy and I tread carefully so as not to slip on the slimy rock and go shooting down the cavern. But the tunnel keeps getting steeper and slimier. Soon enough I take a bad step and both feet go out from under me.

  I land on my butt and slide down the tunnel. Steeper and steeper it goes until, at last, I shoot out into a large chamber. I skid, roll, and tumble to a stop. Luckily, I only suffer a mild bruise or two. Nothing serious.

  Getting back up, I rub my sore, wet ass and let out a sigh. This chamber is much darker than the minotaur’s garden, but there is still light coming from some distant object. I squint into the darkness to try to make out what it is, but my eyes haven’t yet fully adjusted. Still, it’s the only landmark I have in this massive cavern, so I start making my way to it.

  After a couple minutes my eyes can make out two lanterns. They are perched on either side of a massive wooden door with arched top.

  I stroll up to the door, take the handle, and pull, but it does not budge. I push on the door, but still, it does not budge. I look around the massive chamber, which is utterly empty except for this door in the stone wall. Growing frustrated, I spin around and kick the wall and then let out a frustrated scream.

  “What seems to be the matter?” asks a tiny little voice. It’s so small, in fact, that I almost brush it off as my mind playing tricks on me. But then something catches my eye. On the very edge of the door is a small, three-headed, snail.

  “Oh, um…I’m just…hey, wait a minute. Are you Simurgh? Guardian of the Nether Realm?”

  “Why, yes, I am!” he says in the cutest little snail voice I’ve ever heard. “And whose acquaintance do I have the honor of making this glorious afternoon?

  I look around the dark cavern and shrug. I suppose he’d know what time it was better than I would. “The name’s Arianna. Arianna De Amato of Bellera.”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve heard of you,” says the snail in an impressed tone.

  “You have?”

  “Word gets around, little lady,” he chirps.

  “All good things, I hope,” I say bashfully.

  “The very best!” he confirms.

  “So…uh…is it all right if I ask you a question?”

  “By all means!” Simurgh replies. “I rarely get visitors. And I’d certainly never turn down a good conversation!”

  “Great!” I say, my spirits perking up a bit. Even though I know it’s strange that I’m talking with a three-headed snail, after everything I’ve just been through it’s a nice change of pace. “So, um…how do I open this keyless door if it’s locked?”

  “I’m glad you asked!” Simurgh says cheerfully. “You see, this particular door can only be opened from the inside.”

  “You mean the other side,” I correct.

  “No, no. We’re already on the other side. From the inside.”

  “Oh, sorry…I didn’t mean to…”

  “That’s quite alright, dear. It’s a mistake anyone could make.”

  I don’t know about that, but I’d rather not argue with a snail if I can help it.

  “But, say a brave warrior comes to you and says that it’s imperative that they get through to the other side. How exactly would you advise them of doing that?”

  “Why that’s simple!” Simurgh says. “I’d tell them that it’s quite impossible!”

  “Impossible?” I gasp.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Suddenly I feel as though the rug has been pulled out from under me. I grow despondent and stare off at the nothingness a long time. So long, in fact, that I begin to feel myself seeping out into it.

  “Are you all right, miss?”

  “Um…what? Oh. Yes,” I say. “I’m fine.”

  “Then why do I get the feeling you don’t seem fine?” Simurgh asks.

  My shoulders slumped, I let out a defeated sigh and answer my little snail companion. “It’s just that…I’m supposed to get passed this door.”

  “Well, you can’t get past this door. You’re far too big. But I can!”

  “You can?!” I gasp in relief.

  “Yes.”

  “And you’d do that for me?”

  “I don’t see why not,” says the snail.

  “Oh, I could give you a great big kiss!”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” Simurgh says, as he oozes a centimeter downward.

  After a few minutes of Simurgh seemingly sitting still, I ask, “Will this be long?”

  “Oh, yes. Quite,” he answers. “I am a snail, after all.”

  Another long awkward silence passes and I muster up the courage to ask, “Is there any way to, you know, maybe hurry it up a bit?”

  “I can guarantee you, miss Arianna, that I am racing at top speed to help you in your endeavors. It should only be a week or two before I get to the other side.” By the tenor of his voice, it sounds as though I should be impressed by that. As though it were a new snail world record.

  One more agonizing minute passes when, finally, I cannot take it any longer and I reach out to pluck him off the door and help him along. “Why don’t I help you?”

  “NOOO!” Screams Simurgh at the top of his snail lungs. “You must not touch me, Miss Arianna. I’m extremely poisonous. One touch of my slime would be fatal! First, your tongue would swell in your throat. Then, your eyes would bulge out until they bled. And, finally, you’d choke to death as my toxins seared through your veins, causing you to experience the most excruciating pain you’ve ever felt.”

  I pull back my hand as though I’m about touch a burning flame.

  “Thanks for the warning,” I say.

  “Anytime,” Simurgh replies, sliding another centimeter.

  “Oh, wait!” I say, snapping my fingers as a fresh idea pops into my head. “I could just put on my gloves.”

  “Gloves?”

  I reach into the satchel fastened to my belt and pull out my riding gloves. Holding them in my hand, I wag them at Simurgh and say, “I could put them on and move you across in no time!”

  “I’m afraid that wouldn’t work either,” he says contritely. “You see, some of the toxins would still seep through. It might be prolonged. You might even get to the other side, but you’d be dead. And if you die down here, you stay down her forever.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask coyly, holding the gloves out toward the little snail on the door.

  “Try it and see,” he says. “It’s your funeral.”

  I deliberate for a few more seconds and then decide it best to be safe rather than sorry. I tuck my gloves back into the satchel on my hip, and then fold my arms and let out and agitated sigh. />
  “Don’t’ worry, miss Arianna. I’ll get you out of here in a jiffy.”

  I pace back and forth for a few minutes to help calm my nerves. That’s when Master Kel’s words pop into my mind. He said your friends will appear to be your enemies and your enemies your friends. And Simurgh has certainly put on a good show of being my friend. Which likely means he’s my enemy.

  Determined to get to the bottom of this mystery, I reach back and draw out the Sword of Runes.

  “What are you planning to do with that?” Simurgh asks in his high squeaky voice.

  “Nothing to be concerned about,” I assure him.

  Then, holding the flat part of the blade to the bridge of my nose, I stare at the door with great intensity. Focus, I think. Focus.

  Sure enough, the runes light up and the sword ignites with flames that ripple across its surface.

  As with the visage of Ashram, which shrouded Master Kel, hiding his real identity from me, suddenly the entire room and cavern fractures, sending a cobweb of hairline fractures in every direction. And just as with before, the pieces start to flutter away.

  The pieces blow away slowly revealing a massive three-headed snail the size of a shaggy mammoth that roams the snowfields of the Shard standing before me.

  “There’s no door, is there?”

  “No,” Simurgh booms in his giant snail voice. “Just me.”

  “Let me pass,” I demand.

  “No,” he booms again.

  I raise the Sword of Runes and point it at the giant snail. “Which of your heads do I need to cut off to get an answer other than no?”

  “I cannot allow you to pass. It is forbidden.”

  With a roar that originates deep in my gut, I swing the sword upward and lob off Simurgh’s middle head.

  I step aside and let the massive piece of gooey meat fall to the ground. It lands with a wet slosh and the splatter of snail ooze.

  “Grrrt!” the snail snorts in a strange snail voice.

  “One down and two more to go,” I say intimidatingly.

  “Fine,” Simurgh says, surrendering to me. “Have it your way.”

  Opening both mouths wide, as though he were yawning, he says “Step through one of my mouths. In one you shall find the way past. In the other you shall find only death.”

  “How about I simply dice you up like escargot and see where that takes me?”

  “I’m afraid that won’t work,” Simurgh says impatiently.

  Unexpectedly, there is a furious bellow. The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up with fearful realization. I spin around to see the minotaur standing at the foot of the tunnel, his bloodshot eyes peering across the hollow of the cavern at me with bloodthirsty indent. I can sense he wants revenge for being so badly beaten and humiliated. And he won’t stop until one of us is dead.

  “I found you, wench. Now, let’s finish what we started!” Throwing out its arms, the beast lets out another terrible bellow so fierce it shakes the cavern walls. He thrashes his head side to side, snorting and huffing with an uncontrollable rage. Then, stamping his hooves upon the rocky ground, he bolts toward me.

  With a swipe of the blade, I pitch the Sword of Runes toward my side, dislodging snail slime, which splatters onto the ground. Then, widening my stance, I ready myself to engage the minotaur. As he races toward me, frothing and foaming at the mouth with wild-eyed rage, I hold steadfast and stare down the raging beast. Ido the only thing I can do. Wait for him to come to me.

  Once the minotaur is within reach of me, he stretches out his thick brutish hands and reaches for my neck. His bloodshot eyes can only see red. Just as he is but a hair’s breadth away from clutching my throat, I lean away and kick out my leg.

  The minotaur trips on my foot and stumbles in through the gaping mouth of Simurgh’s right head. After he disappears through the open fissure, I wait anxiously for any signs of distress. After a few seconds, there is a terrible cry. The minotaur screams and bleats out in painful agony. I can hear him trying to fight his way back out, but soon his cries fade away, and then I hear a heavy thump and I know the minotaur has fallen.

  “Well done,” Simurgh says, sounding impressed by my cunning defeat of the minotaur.

  I sling the Sword of Runes over my back and confidently enter the left mouth. Into the secret passage that will take me past the veil and into the heart of the Nether Realm.

  28

  I don’t know how or why, but I’m back in my room from when I was a child. I sit up in bed and throw my legs over the end. Everything is as it was when I was a child. Even the clay idol I tried to fashion of El Novette that looks more like a fat dove sits on my dresser. Everything in its proper place. Everything except for me, that is.

  I do a quick check to see if I’m still me. And sure enough, I’m the nineteen-year-old Arianna. And I’m still in all my armor to boot. I swing my legs over the bed, stand up, and then slowly inch toward my bedroom door.

  Light steams in from the morning sun outside, but when I touch the door handle, it feels awfully cold. So, cold, in fact, that my hand sticks a bit to it. Ignoring the strangeness of the temperature, given the warm light coming in through my windows, I twist the doorknob and throw open the door.

  When I step out of my room I am no longer inside my house. Now, I stand in a dark prison with three stories of barred prison cells. A long corridor extends before me. At the end is a massive circular door with seven glowing symbols on it. Each symbol takes a point on its circumference, although I’m still too far away to make out the runes.

  For whatever reason, I have the strongest urge to move toward the door. So, I take a step into the frigid corridor. When I look back over my shoulder, I see the outside of my house, glowing with warm light, as if it was still sitting on the hillside of Bellera on midsummer’s day.

  I put the oddity out of my mind and make my way to the round steel door stippled with ancient runes.

  As I pass by the barred cells, pallid arms and hands with splintered yellow fingernails reach out to me. Eyes broken by endless suffering look out at me, and languished moans begin to fill the corridor as more and more are alerted to my presence.

  Being watched by hundreds of leering eyes is unsettling, and I soon pick up my pace. In short time, I am loping along at a brisk pace to hasten away from their grasping fingers and anguish-filled pleas for help. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for them.

  The giant door looms over me and I stand before it, staring up at the runes. I recognize some of them. They are the symbols of each of the realms. All are lit but for one. It’s the elven symbol for language. Then I remember Master Kel’s advice to me about the Sword of Runes. Language sort of being its thing.

  I draw out the Sword of Runes and look around for a clue as how to use it to unlock the door. Turning around, I see a smaller circle with the same runes etched into the stone of the floor. In the middle of the floor is a slot for a sword to enter in.

  “It can’t be that easy,” I say aloud. But what else could it be? I flip the blade around and thrust it down into the space. The sword enters without resistance, but nothing happens.

  I step back, thinking there may be a delay, but still nothing comes of it. I scratch my head and then look back up at the large door. The sword is facing twelve o’clock. The run I need to light up is at two o’clock. Glancing back down at the sword in the stone circle on the floor, I decide it’s worth a try.

  I grab ahold of the hilt with both hands and twist clockwise. The circular slab on the floor rotates until there is a loud clunk. I look up to see the one o’clock position indicated on the door. Giving it another twist, I watch as the slab slides into the two o’clock position. When I look up at the door, the correct symbol is lit up.

  “What now?” I mumble under my breath. In fact, I don’t know what I did. Not exactly. Did I unlock the cell? Have I repaired the seal? I look around the room for what might constitute a broken seal, but find nothing out of the ordinary.

  Out of th
e blue, the door shifts, and there is a loud rumbling. Slowly, the door rolls out of the way, revealing a large chamber. Inside is a man with a long gray beard and a tattered tunic which looks to be made from a simple hessian weave.

  “Hello?” I ask. But the man does not respond. I take a few steps toward the cell. Perhaps he didn’t hear me, I think. So, I repeat myself. “Hello? Sir?”

  Yet again, there’s no reply. I step into the cell with the man. It’s completely empty but for an old moth-eaten blanket.

  “Sir?” I say, inching up toward the man. “Are you the Outlier?”

  The man raises his head and looks upon me. After a moment of what appears to be startled confusion, he grins at me.

  “Are you the Outlier?” I repeat. “The one they call Demos Nun?”

  “I’m pretty sure,” he says in a voice that sounds dry and parched, “that you are the one they call Demos Nun.”

  I laugh. “I think you might be mistaken. My name is Arianna De Amato. I’ve come to free you.”

  “Free me? Are you a god?”

  “No. I’m a warrior,” I reply.

  “A warrior?” he says, stroking his beard inquisitively. Springing up to his feet, he thrusts out his hand. “The name’s Arianna De Amato! Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  I laugh again. “I’m fairly certain that’s my name,” I inform him. He does seem rather confused. Perhaps that’s what happens when you spend to many years in the Nether Realm. You slowly lose your mind.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “Positive,” I say, holding back another laugh.

  “Oh, in that case, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Arianna De Amato.”

  I take his hand in mind and give it a firm shake. His skin feels unaffected by the cold. Like me, he weathers the icy chill with an impervious kind of strength.

  “May I ask a favor of you, fair maiden?”

  “You may,” I say.

  “Will you take all your clothes off for me? It’s been ages since I’ve seen a beautiful woman.”