Prophecy Of The Sun (Age Of Oryn Book 1)

by Liam Reese

  Prologue

  The old man stood, looking out at the endless sea, white eyes seeing nothing and everything. He was a relic from another time. This he knew, his place in all this being nothing but that of a watcher. He had set the events of today in motion long ago, conjured them up from the recesses of his imagination, from the depths of his nightmares. He contemplated all this in silence, having given up speaking long ago when he first realized the dangers that words can hold. He could raze civilizations with just a phrase if he wanted, and that terrified him endlessly.

  He raised his head, staring up at the heavens. The sun was high in the sky, but the moon was still visible. He stood for hours that way each day, watching the movements of the two. As the sun crept across the sky, it moved closer to the moon, and he sighed. He had remained here for years, where the sea meets the land, watching all, waiting for the sun and the moon to collide. Now, as they were nearing each other, as the moon was setting itself up to move in front of the sun, he realized it was all wrong. Something had changed, and he knew not what.

  1

  Croenin lay on the side of the dirt road, coughing as the stab wound in his stomach bled. He was nearly hidden from view, as his attackers had dragged him behind a bush, and he could only lie and watch as feet, hooves, and wood and oryn wheels passed his limited line of sight. He groaned, trying to move himself closer to the road where he could ask for help, but as he tried to push himself from behind the bush, pain shot through him. He looked down at his torso, seeing the red splotch just below his chest grow larger. He turned his head slowly, looking into the woods on his other side. He would be perfect prey for wolves once night fell.

  For weeks, Croenin had been slowly walking toward Conclatum, the large settlement almost a month’s journey from his village. His mother had told him that all travelers stop in the settlement at some point to get more supplies. No doubt his sister Ayne had passed through at some point, and he was determined to ask around the inns and in the town square to learn who might have seen her. He also needed to find out what castles or palaces were in the region. In the vision his grandmother Haega had given him before his horrific death, Ayne had been in an opulent room of a palace, combing and braiding a wealthy woman’s hair. Croenin was sure someone would know who the woman was and, if she ventured into the city, where she could be found.

  But for now, Croenin was fighting for his life, not even a month into his journey. He gasped for air as he tried to push himself closer to the rough edge of the road, his face brushing the rough nettles of the ground under him. Groaning loudly, he tried to give himself one big push and felt as if his stomach was going to rip in two. Glancing down once more, he could see blood starting to seep through his shirt, forming thick droplets on top of the rough fabric as his blood tried to clot. Croenin grit his teeth and continued to push, letting out an involuntary whine as he began to give up, the pain growing too great. His head lolled back, and he looked up at the sky. Only a few more hours to sundown.

  “You heard that?” a rough voice came from nearby just as Croenin was beginning to lose consciousness, pain and blood loss causing him to blackout. His vision blurred just as two large figures came to stand over him, their faces blurred from the black dots filling his field of vision. Croenin began to lose consciousness as he felt large, calloused hands grab him. They hoisted him up, and the pain in his stomach increased tenfold.

  “You idiot!” was all he heard before everything went black.

  Croenin awoke in a strange bed not knowing where he was or what had happened. He was warm, and pushed a pelt of furs off his body as he tried to sit up and failed. His torso felt stiff, and looking down he could see that he was constrained somewhat by bandages wrapped tightly around his lower chest and stomach. He tried again to push himself into a seated position and felt pain shoot through his abdomen. He let himself drop back onto the bed with a huff, feeling helpless. He hoped that whoever had brought him here was friendly. They had to be, he thought to himself, if they took the time to bandage him up and put him to bed.

  He looked around the room as best he could, craning his neck to try to see anything that might give him a hint as to who his saviors were or where he was. The room was dim, lit only by a small fireplace. Next to the fireplace, Croenin could see a sword in its scabbard leaning against a low doorway. He turned his head more, squinting in the soft light. The black scabbard was emblazoned with the silver head of a bear, but this told Croenin nothing. He laid his head back down, staring at the wooden slats of the ceiling and wishing he could do more than lie and wait. His thoughts began to race as he tried and failed to push thoughts of how far behind he was on his journey.

  He had expected to reach Olna in a week but had been forced to stay in one of the small inns lining the main road for almost two weeks due to torrential rains and deadly winds. He was worried that Ayne may have moved on by now, if she was as wily as his grandmother had suggested. He feared she knew he was after her, but told himself he was being ridiculous. She might have been crafty, but he doubted she was clairvoyant. Croenin tried rolling over onto his side to give himself something to do other than brood over his sister, but found this too to be impossible. He balled his hand into a fist and thumped the bed in frustration.

  “Bored, are ya?” A voice came from the doorway, startling Croenin.

  He turned his head sharply. He hadn’t heard anyone coming and was surprised the man in the doorway hadn’t made his presence known before. The man was huge, taking up most of the doorframe he leaned against. His face was mostly in shadow, but Croenin could make out swarthy skin and a thick, bushy beard. The man was mostly covered by a large pelt, but as he stepped into the room, swishing it aside, Croenin saw the rough, burlap clothes of a peasant underneath. The man stopped and crouched just before the bed, examining him, frowning.

  “You’ve got quite a scratch,” he said, eyes focused on the seeping bandages wrapped around Croenin’s torso. “It’s a good thing we found you when we did.”

  “Who’s we?” Croenin croaked, suddenly aware of how dry his throat was.

  At that, the man stood abruptly, looking down at him in shock.

  “Who’s ‘we’?” He bellowed, booming voice reverberating in the cramped room and making Croenin wince. “You don’t mean to tell me you’ve never heard of the Faero Ursi lad!” When Croenin merely shook his head silently, the man continued. “We are the guardians of the forest paths, have been for…who knows how long. We started patrolling the ways and keeping travelers safe from the Aes Sidhe and now from bandits and highwaymen. A bit of a downgrade, but still important work,” he finished, puffing out his chest.

  “Safe?” Croenin hissed, looking down at his bandages.

  “Ah! So, you’ve got a sense of humor! Casualties happen, lad. It’s a rule of this trade. But there would be a lot more dead without us. Besides,” he said, dropping down onto the foot of the bed, “You’d be much worse off if we hadn’t found you.”

  Croenin set his jaw. He couldn’t argue with that, and knew he should be grateful to the man for helping him. He was right after all, even with patrols, there could never be enough yeomen to watch over every swatch of every road. Just as Croenin was about to thank him, the man smacked himself on the forehead.

  “Ugh, where are my manners? I never introduced myself! The name’s Saed.”

  He extended a hand, and Croenin awkwardly tried to sit up to reach it, wincing in pain. Saed hurriedly moved toward Croenin to spare him the effort, grasping the young man’s hand in his crushing grip. Saed grinned.

  “I know it hurts now, but you got lucky. Captio should have been a medic with how he heals is what I always say!”

  “Who—” Croenin started, but was quickly interrupted.

  “Ah, “who’s Captio?” you’re wondering!” He leaned in closer and was about to say more when another man entered the room.

  He was much leaner than Saed and almost a head shorter. Yet, his presence seemed much larger. He turned his head sh
arply to scowl at his brother yeoman, green eyes wide in his angular face.

  “What did I tell you about disturbing my patient?” He said softly, looking down his nose at Saed.

  “I don’t remember,” the large man responded with a laugh and a shrug.

  “It was a very simple command.” He crossed his arms and began tapping his foot.

  “Well,” Saed looked up as if struggling to remember. “I guess you would have told me not to.”

  “Exactly,” the thin man huffed, narrowing his eyes at Saed’s mischievous grin. He turned to Croenin and nodded curtly, pointing at his chest. “Captio. I’m the one who bandaged you.”

  “I know,” Croenin said softly, speaking being somewhat difficult. “I—” with that he began to cough, pain shooting up from his abdomen.

  Captio moved quickly, shoving Saed out of the way and forcing Croenin to sit up.

  “You’ve been lying prone far too long. There is still danger of blood leaking into your lungs.” He turned his attention to the larger man. “You should have come and gotten me as soon as you saw he was awake.”

  “He only just started coughing,” Saed exclaimed. “I didn’t know there was any danger until now!”

  Croenin stopped coughing but was now doubled over in pain. The bickering men were only giving him a headache, and he wished they would go away. More than that he wanted to be healed and out of the small room. He had never felt pain like this, not even when he was burned as a child, and now the two men crowding him were beginning to make him feel claustrophobic. Still bent, he glanced up at the men, who were now silent. Captio had produced a mug of water and was now offering it silently to him. Croenin drank greedily, feeling like he’d been deprived of water for years as soon as the first drop hit his tongue. He spluttered, and Captio pulled the mug away.

  “That’s enough for now. How is your pain now?”

  “Manageable,” Croenin responded, sitting up slowly. “How long will it take ‘til I’m better?”

  “Weeks, unfortunately. This type of injury can take months to heal, and it took you nearly a month just to regain consciousness,” Captio said cooly.

  “I’ve been here almost a month?” Croenin whispered, panicked. His sister Ayne could have already moved far away while he was stuck recovering.

  “Aye lad,” Saed said softly. “Why the face? You’ve got somewhere to be?” He chuckled to himself but was soon quiet after a sharp look from Captio.

  “No!” Croenin nearly shouted, then lowered his voice. “No. I don’t. I was just surprised, is all.”

  “Hm,” was all Captio said before sitting softly on the bed next to Croenin.

  He began slowly unwinding the bandages wrapped tightly around the young man’s torso, causing him to grit his teeth and ball his fists in pain. He couldn’t help but flinch when the thin man got to the last layer that was stuck to his skin with dried blood. Captio glanced at Saed, who immediately understood and moved quickly to restrain Croenin while the slim man tore the rest of the bandages off as carefully and as quickly as possible. This is it, Croenin thought to himself, his vision going white as searing pain ripped through his torso. I survived this long just to bleed out here. But, Captio wasn’t going to let that happen. As soon as the old bandages were off, he whipped out a needle and thread and, quick as a flash, began to fix where the old stitching had ripped when Croenin first tried to sit up. When that was finished, he leapt up, running from the room and returning with cloth to mop up and bandage the young man once more. At this point, Croenin was nearly blacking out from pain, but held on through sheer determination. He knew he wouldn’t be able to move from the bed he was in for weeks yet, but some part of him was afraid of blacking out again, of losing more time to search for Ayne. Captio finished re-wrapping the tight bandages and smirked.

  “You’re much more of a fighter than you look,” he said, standing. He nodded to Saed, who released Croenin from his tight grip. “And you’re healing much faster than I’d guessed you would.”

  “This is healing?” Croenin gasped, pain just beginning to subside. “I can’t even sit up on my own!”

  “No, not yet.” Captio replied, “but soon. Get some rest. That’s the most important thing right now.”

  With that he left, leaving Croenin to fester. Though he didn’t get to brood for long before Saed was back at the foot of the bed, staring at him with an amused expression on his coarse face.

  “What?” Croenin asked, sulking.

  “Nothing.” Saed’s grin widened. “You just remind me of someone.”

  Croenin’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t in the mood for Saed’s game. He could feel his wound throbbing and his heart still fighting to return to a regular pattern of beating. He felt even more constricted than earlier, more aware of the burden of his destiny and the absolute feeling of helplessness that overshadowed it as he couldn’t leave this bed.

  “Well,” Saed interrupted his thoughts. “if you’re not gonna ask who, I’ll just tell you.” He moved a bit closer to Croenin, leaning with his elbows on his knees and glancing into the fire. “You look like the brother who trained me. He was tall and skinny just like you, but he was the best fighter I’ve ever known. He used to sulk just like you too!” With that he started guffawing loudly, prompting Captio to return.

  “I told him to rest!” He hissed at the large man, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him to a standing position.

  Saed merely allowed himself to be moved, giving Croenin one last grin before he was dragged out of the room. Croenin waited a few moments and took the opportunity to attempt to sit up further. He started seeing spots, and before he could try to stop it blacked out almost as soon as he was perfectly upright. As his vision clouded with blackness, he began to feel as if he were floating, and forced his heavy eyes open. He was no longer in the small, dim room, nor sitting on a bed. He was now in a room with stone walls, seated on a stone chair carved with designs of leaves and vines. Disoriented, he tried to stand but couldn’t, feeling his knees buckling as he tried.

  “That won’t work here. You’re too weak, even in your non-corporeal form.” A voice echoed from all around him.

  “W-what is this?” Croenin exclaimed angrily, trying to mask his fear. “Who are you?”

  A giggle.

  “You know who I am, dear brother.” Laughter began to fill the room. “And I know what you try to do. It is foolish and will not work.” The laughter grew louder, and Croenin’s vision began to grow blurry once more.

  “Not yet, don’t go.” The voice and the laughter sounded more muffled now, but Croenin couldn’t stop what was happening.

  He tried to remain, but he felt himself begin to fall through the stone chair, tipping backward and free falling into nothingness. He tried to turn his head, barely able to peer over his shoulder into the blackness below him. Trying to scream, Croenin realized he couldn’t breathe in this void, and he began to clutch at his throat. Suddenly, he felt himself slam back into the bed. He opened his eyes and sat up quickly, panting, then realized he had just sat up with ease. At the foot of the bed was sitting Saed, looking at him warily.

  “How long was I out?” Croenin gasped, breathing heavily.

  “Two days.” Saed responded, still staring.

  Croenin looked down at himself, noticing that his bandages were different, a darker strip of cloth, than he’d been wearing before he blacked out.

  “When did Captio change--?”

  “How did you do it?” Saed asked quietly, standing to his full, imposing height.

  “Do what?” Croenin stared at the large man in confusion.

  “You’re nearly healed, boy. That’s impossible.” Captio said so himself. How’d you do it?”

  Croenin frowned. Saed was right. That was impossible. He stared down at his bandages once more, running a hand over his torso. He prodded his abdomen, feeling a slight twinge nowhere near as painful as before. He sat up further and began to unwind the bandages as Saed watched suspiciously, gasping when he
saw what lay underneath. No longer a seeping, angry gash, the wound on his abdomen was now a thin, pink line. It looked freshly scarred, something even he knew couldn’t possibly happen in merely a couple days. Croenin gaped at his abdomen and then turned his shocked face to Saed’s distrustful one.

  “How did this happen?” He whispered.

  “That’s what I’m asking you. I know Captio’s a healer, but even he can’t do this.” He crossed his arm. “Looks like some kind of sorcery.”

  “I didn’t do this!” Croenin exclaimed, staring once more at his peach-colored scar. “And even if I did…I don’t know how I could have!”

  Saed narrowed his eyes and stepped closer, sizing Croenin up. Croenin stared back, trying to make his face look innocent as possible. He was just as bewildered as the large man in front of him.

  “I promise. I don’t know what’s going on,” Croenin said slowly. “I’m just as confused as you are.”

  “Just as confused as all of us are,” Captio said brusquely as he entered the room.

  He softly shoved Saed out of the way to get a better look at Croenin’s wound.

  “Does it hurt at all?” He asked softly, poking it softly with two fingers.

  “A little, but it doesn’t really bother me.” Croenin replied. “Are you sure you didn’t do this?”

  “Not I,” Captio said, standing. “This type of healing is beyond me, beyond anyone without the help of magic. You don’t know anyone who might be able to heal through magic, would you?” He stared into Croenin’s eyes, as if trying to read his thoughts.

  “No,” the young man lied.

  “Well then! It’s a mystery,” was all Captio said as he turned to leave the room. “And I do love mysteries.”

  Croenin gulped, feeling exposed even though to his knowledge he had done nothing wrong. He felt that his position now might be precarious, being surrounded by Faero Ursi who might suspect him of some wrongdoing. Even if I did heal myself, why would it be so wrong? He asked himself, but a voice at the back of his head responded. All magic comes from the Aes Sidhe, you fool. Only those who have made deals with them can harness that sort of power. He would just have to prove to these men that he was in no way associated with the magic beings that tormented mankind for centuries. Even though you are, the voice came again. Croenin gulped.