“Don’t be offended, my lady.” the man whispered. “I understand it’s not your rightful title—yet.”
She held her breath, preparing to push the man away. If Mal'Bal overheard someone calling her Queen, she might get gold poured down her throat.
“You may deceive many,” he chuckled, voice like velvet. “but for those of us who court deviousness, your face is easily read.”
The words made Wahala's heart jump. “What do you mean?”
“Mal'Bal has overstepped. He’s changed the ways of the cult.” The man stared at the ground spat in disgust, an act contrary to his looks. “Even now, many of our own ritualize in his name. You should know—the Lich Lord has forced you into being his gold caster.”
Wahala wasn't alone in her feelings. She grabbed the man's chin and lifted his face so he stared into her eyes. He was tall. “What’s your name?”
“Salastine, Queen Priestess.”
Something stirred within Wahala. A wind of change. “I’m not a Queen Priestess.” she hissed.
The man pointed to a far-off decrepit farmhouse. Wahala could see a small gathering of cult members waiting at its doors. They watched her with observing eyes. There was a sneaky quality to them, as if they were a group of lounging snakes.
“Mal'Bal shall run out of gold sooner than we think in his mad campaign.”
Wahala could hear the screams of the villagers who’d chosen to replace limbs with gold. She’d have to go and perform the necromantic magic to graft gold onto them soon or they would bleed out. She could also smell the cooking flesh of those who refused. Salastine spoke the truth, Mal'Bal had been using all their supplies. Salastine put his soft lips against Wahala's ear, making her shiver. No man had ever approached Wahala this way. Was he trying to play her emotions or was he genuine?
“He’ll need to send some of us back to our homeland for more gold. He holds you close—he’s made you his acolyte; his little helper. If you play to his trust and are chosen to go...”
“You can endow me as your Queen at our temple.” Wahala finished. Their eyes burned into each other and refused to look away.
“The right hand of Mal'Bal shall become his successor.” Salastine affirmed. “The proper leader of our cult has always been a woman. Possibly you—with the exception you don’t break the ancient rules of the cult as the Golden Agony has done.”
Wahala stepped back from the handsome cult member. There was a wind of change blowing around her.
Salastine faded back into the crowd, his words lingering in her ear. “You’ll be surprised at how many want to rebel.”
CHAPTER EIGHT:
Inheritance
—And three were called forth, the booming voice of Abealon full of joy and energy: Come hither Jamiir, come hither Lovattimarsh, come hither Ballion! For by the work of your hands—more beautiful and far greater than the other Gods—have by this your victory been granted. Hark and listen all existence, for three winners have been selected. Let it be noted in the books of time that the competition stands at a close. Let us enter a time of rest and witness the reward, let the three first mortal races flourish to their full capabilities! Thus we shall call this the first measured Era, the second Era after the time of the Gods, the Era of First Birth!—
-Domolov, the Three-Fingered Cleric’s Historic Book of Speculative Deity Theology, page 34,007; sub-section 9
Finn opened his eyes. The Slaglands were no longer hot. It took a moment to reorient, but when he did, he jumped to his feet, spinning in place. He brought his left arm up and stared at his wrist. The metal bracer rested there, bound like it was part of him. He tried pulling it off, but it wouldn't budge, as if it was woven into his skin.
“What is this?” he shouted in frustration.
He remembered putting it on, falling to the ground, and seeing visions. Visions of... already the memory of what he’d seen faded. He could only recall small fragments. A golden man screaming and... lava. Or fire. He couldn't remember. Finn shook his head. A Star-Child bracer on his wrist. Did it make him like Nozgull? Did it make him powerful? Would he be able to control gems and stones?
Finn pointed to the center of the crater. He focused and waved his hand to the side, imagining black stone breaking free and flying about. Nothing happened. The stone didn’t move. With a growl, Finn tried with both hands.
“Move!” he shouted.
“Obey me, stone!”
“Fly!”
There was no response from the inanimate object. Was the bracer too old and the magic worn away? Or had Nozgull lied about the origin of his power? But if so, why had Finn come across a bracer just like Nozgull’s at the epicenter of the Slaglands? Epicenter... Maybe this bracer had another ability? Maybe... it caused detonations?
Finn imagined a small explosion happening in the distance. He tried waving his arms. He stomped his feet in an angry dance and screamed out every foul curse he could think of, knowing it was no use; the bracer wasn't going to work for him. He wasn't going to achieve the power Nozgull had shown back at the mining outpost. If Nozgull could see him now, he'd be on the ground rolling in laughter. And Goblin—Finn had made a promise to protect the boy, yet had turned and ran for his life. Now he was in the middle of the Slaglands, about to die from thirst and heat and...
Finn wasn't thirsty. Neither was he hot.
The realization made him freeze and blink. How could that be? With sudden shock, Finn jumped. Was he dead? He slapped himself and yelped. No, he wasn't dead. So how was he not experiencing the effects of the Slaglands? It was as if he was spellbound or using a magical gem or...the bracer. He lifted his arm again and stared at the object in open wonder. Could the device have made him immune to heat and in turn made him resistant to the base need of drinking?
Finn paced around the epicenter, careful to not step in the trickle of lava pouring from where the stone man once stood. No, he could feel the distant need for water. He would have to drink... eventually, but he felt he could go days more without a drop. The bracer hadn't made him impervious to thirst, it had enhanced how long he could go without water. Enhanced it a lot.
But what about heat? Stopping and examining himself, he found another surprise. All the spots on his skin where he'd been burned by contact with the sun-soaked rocks were healed. He also had no sunburn. In fact, his once-pale cave-diver skin was now a hue darker, a little tanner. It was as if he stood at the bottom of a mineshaft; shaded and cool, yet nothing but bright, harsh light hit him. Was he now immune to high temperatures?
Finn's eyes turned to the lava trickle. His mind mulled over the idea and he tried to talk sense into himself. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling—the curiosity to try. Finn walked over to where the small stream of lava came from the rock. Originally having poured from a crack in the man's face, it now flowed from the base stones where the figure had rested. Finn put his hand above the trickle, trying to sense the temperature rising from the glowing liquid. His hand felt nothing but cool air. He brought it lower, hovering it above the flow. Still no temperature change.
What if he did touch the lava? What if it burned, sticking to his skin and peeling away his flesh? How would he get the liquid off himself then? But the bracer...the potential power... Finn swallowed hard. He wouldn’t know unless he tried. Using his non-dominant hand, he lowered a trembling finger until it touched the red rivulet. Finn clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, heart pounding and expecting to feel unimaginable pain.
But he didn't feel anything at all.
His eyes popped open, bugging out of his head. He didn't feel anything at all. There was sensation of thick slow-moving liquid, but there was no heat. He put his hand flat against the ground and watched in amazement as lava flowed over his fingers. Not even the hairs on the back of his hand burned. He turned his palm and let the lava collect into a puddle. He rubbed it against his other hand and thick heavy globs fell to the ground with a sizzle. Finn let out a laugh. Unbelievable!
He brought the lava close to his face
and examined the red glowing liquid. He could see flecks of melting rock, reds, yellows, and oranges; all intermixed into the substance. On an impulse, Finn did something crazy. He stuck his tongue out and poked the lava. There was nothing but a tingle. Finn laughed again. He flung the lava in an arc across the sky, spreading his arms as it rained around him.
With a hiss that made him jump, lava hit his clothing and the material burst into flames. Finn yelped and danced, batting at his shoulders. The fire didn't hurt, but instinctively frightened him. Once he'd put out the flames, he groaned, staring at the many charred holes in his shirt and pants. Examining the rest of his outfit, Finn took off his Sponge-Marble sandals. The pair were destroyed by his long trek and the ground was somehow cool to his soles.
The stone man—a figure petrified by ash and lava long ago—must have been able to harness the bracer to its full extent. Did that mean one day he would do the same, turning entire landscapes into slag? And for that matter, why had the wearer been petrified? Had the man not been granted the same power as he? Had the man not been immune? Or did each wearer gain unique abilities? There was so much Finn didn't know.
Looking about, Finn assessed his situation. Although immune to heat, he was not immune to hunger. His stomach ached from lack of nutrients and his hands quivered with weakness. He’d been accustomed to malnutrition at the outpost, eating small unsatisfying meals, but he’d never experienced this much hunger. He had to get out of the Slaglands—and he had to save Goblin. There was no time to waste. He walked away, content in knowing he wouldn’t see the place again. For all it had done to him—bringing him to the brink of death—it had also changed his life. He trudged up the crater wall, leaving behind the quiet rocks.
The journey was long, yet made much shorter by Finn's new immunity to heat. It could have been hours or it could have been days. His legs moved in monotony, his mind degrading into a state of stasis. Over hills and past jagged pillars, even taking his clothing off and holding it over his head as he waded through a shallow lava river. He napped occasionally, the strange landscape haunting his sleep and making his rest unstable. He walked barefoot and because of wearing Sponge-Marble sandals all his life, his thick callouses kept him going. At least the typified black rock was glass smooth.
He knew he neared the edge of the terrain when he looked to the sky and noticed it was darker—the sun was setting—time had returned to him at last. Finn grinned, spotting an orange and green horizon. Green. Finn shivered. He had all Lenova to explore. Yet he narrowed his eyes and boxed his excitement. He had a duty to Goblin. No matter how hard, he would first save his friend.
Finn hiked the last kilometers out of the Slaglands. Black rock transitioned to dirt, spotted by weak desert shrub and gravel. Soon, it turned to yellow weeds buzzing with crickets, and eventually to grass. When he came across the bright vegetation, he fell to his knees. His hands pressed onto the green. It was prickly. Finn couldn't help but chuckle in wonder. He spotted desert crags and cliffs far to his right a long way away. Straight ahead and to his left were sloping verdant hills leading into trees. Finn tried to orient himself. He'd escaped West into the Slaglands and at some point, miscalculated his direction coming back. He was in a new land; a place he'd never heard of before.
Finn caught himself staring at the trees in amazement and wondering what it would be like to climb one. Giving in, he ran forward, spending the last of his dwindled energy to reach a branch. He pulled himself up and grabbed another. The tree was large and the bark was a dark color—nearing deep blue. Fat leaves sprawled out and heavy cones pulled down, giving off a tangy smell that made Finn's nose run. He climbed as high as he could and stared across the horizon. The trees spanned a forest running to the far East. He could see distant snow-capped mountains, hills, cliffs, and even rivers.
He descended, plucking one of the tree cones along the way, and sat on the ground. He pulled at the brown stems, revealing small nuts cocooned within. He took a gamble and popped one in his mouth, biting down. It was bitter at first, but after a couple of chews, gave off a creamy flavor. Feeling no strange effect, he ate the rest of the nuts within the cone and climbed back up, plucking more. When he finished, belly full and tired of the taste, a large pile of disemboweled shells littered around him. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, a small breeze kept his body covered in goosebumps the whole while.
The following morning, Finn set out into the forest with no idea on where to go and his belt satchel stocked with more tree nuts. Yet although lost, Finn was far from panicked. This was his first time in the heart of nature. He remembered his half-finished attempt to etch a fake forest into the walls of his hut. He’d never imagined it to be so…explosive and disorderly. In his etch, tree trunks were duplicates of one another, standing in even rows, but this forest far from obeyed any rules. Trees interwove and tangled, forming walls and ceilings of bark and plant-life. Birds sat in rows, watching him from above with cautious chirps and cocked heads. Lines of ants wove on the ground, agitated by his presence. The smell of crisp vegetation was euphoric. Finn spent more time stopping and observing than he did moving.
At one point, as he aimlessly wandered beneath the tree canopy, he thought he saw the faint glimmer of a shining cloud far ahead. Running forward, he lost track of the oddity, wondering if it was Nozgull. He spent the rest of the day lost in the forest, following game trails and climbing trees. The sky was blue and only white clouds greeted him. If Nozgull was out and about, he was activating and deactivating his power, making himself hard to track.
Finn found a natural spring bubbling from the base of a small hillock and gulped the cold water until he couldn’t stomach it anymore. With his newfound powers, he drank only four gulps, finding his thirst easily sated. He finished off his tree nuts, unsatisfied and wishing he had meat. Wandering until sunset, he found no trace of civilization. When the depth of night hit, Finn laid himself against the base of a tree, and settled uncomfortably. Stirring, he gave up finding a fitting position and climbed the branches above, seeing if he’d have better luck off the ground.
As he climbed, something caught his eye and he squinted. Deeper into the forest where the trees grew taller and thicker, a faint glow flickered between leaves and branches. A campfire. Finn marked the location in his mind and climbed down, his stomach rumbling in hunger.
He pushed into the forest, weaving between tree trunks and tripping over roots as the last of the sunlight fled the incoming presence of darkness. In the distance, three low caws came from the mouth of some strange beast. Averting from the direction, Finn continued toward the light. The moon was high in the sky by the time Finn neared the reflection of dancing flames. When he was close, he heard a voice call out, but not to him, to another individual. The voice was familiar and Finn's heart raced.
“Get more soup boiling! I'm still hungry! If the meal isn't ready soon, you'll find yourself with diamonds through both eyes! Then you'll have some value.”
There was a sound of someone being shoved and landing heavily. Finn peeked around a tree trunk and his suspicions were confirmed. Lounging in the center of a nice-sized clearing was Nozgull. His cloud of gems hung without pattern like lazy fog above his head, but below the tops of the trees. It was no wonder Finn hadn’t seen the cloud from a distance.
Another form moved, picking itself up and wiping leaves from his front. Finn suppressed a gasp. It was Goblin. He was alive!
CHAPTER NINE:
The Sound of Closing Tombs
—Circa 5,204 E.E. (Economic Era-The 17th Era): Lilith the glorious, the most beautiful woman in Caronas, marries 600 men. Three days later the many husbands find out Lilith is in fact a homeless ninety-year-old woman with incredible shapeshifting abilities. Stealing all their collective wealth, Lilith disappears into the night. Soon after, she dies of a weak heart, having spent all the money gambling against House Pallock.—
Finn fell back into the shadow of the trees, heart fluttering like a dying animal. His arms—his arms wer
e trembling. He crawled under a bush and gasped, dust clogging his throat. He fought the urge to cough. Fear had overwhelmed him.
Nozgull was more dangerous than any person, animal, or event Finn had heard of. He was a force of nature, like a sandstorm. No one could stop such a power; only get out of its way. Visions of miners, ghosts hiding in the dark between the trees, opened and closed their mouths, hollow eyes staring, warning him to run—run far away. Ublah-Kan’s turban flying through the air, blood spraying out in an arc…
Finn’s fingers clawed, his body mutinous, his emotions out of control. He could smell iron in the air. His eyes scanned for each movement: the wobble of a leaf, the firelight waving against the trees, a beetle near his elbow. Nozgull laughed at something and Finn nearly lost it, his body spasming. The overbearing fear of making a sound was the only thing freezing him, halting his trembling.
What was this? This uncontrolled terror? It was strong, too strong. His loyalty to Goblin, his promise to keep the boy safe—was an egg, tittering on an edge. How could he do it? Run away again? Yet if he stayed, how could he stop Nozgull? Something glinted on his wrist—not the bracer on his left wrist, but the small Solar gem interwoven into a fiber wristband on his right.
Goblin had no one else. It was either Finn or death. If there was any hope of Goblin being saved, Finn had to get control of himself. How could he ever achieve his goal of exploring Lenova by starting it with an act of cowardice? But the miners…slabs of stone and shards of crystal moving down like omnipotent hands crushing bugs… His whole life, all he’d known—gone. All except Goblin, the last remnant of what had once been. Finn’s body clenched and unclenched, fear scratching furrows into his bones. But he had too… He had to try.
Finn crawled out of the bush and peered around a tree, studying the clearing. He spotted Nozgull, lounging on his side as Goblin handed him a steaming bowl of soup. The Star-Child wore his strange partial armor, covering his brow, hands, and stomach. Finn sniffed the air. Wild onion and something sweet and nameless danced in his nose. He wanted to curse Goblin for having cooked something that smelled so delicious. His stomach contracted painfully.
SunRider: Book 1 (The SunRider Saga) Page 8