Visions: Knights of Salucia - Book 1

by C. D. Espeseth

  “I don’t think so; some Chroniclers talk about amazing lifts or moving stairways in other ruins, but there were lots of references to doors as well. Doesn’t seem to fit that the entrance would be directly in the centre of this huge room.” Wayran lay back against the pile of sand. “And even if it were, we’d never be able to dig to it. More sand will just fill in whatever we move. I wish I could have found out what actually happened to the Jendar. To see some of the wondrous things the Chroniclers talk about in those archives.” Wayran waved at the room around them. “To find something that would explain why the people who made all of this just suddenly disappeared.” He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. “But we’re trapped, and probably going to die down here.”

  “Hey, don’t talk like that. We’ll get out of this, you’ll see.” Matoh sat down beside his brother and patted his shoulder. “We’re just getting tired. Let’s sit and think for a minute.”

  “Bah!” Wayran stood up, angry now. He looked down at a large chunk of glass lying on the floor and picked it up. He positioned it on his finger and thumb like a skipping stone and hurled the glass shard across the room. Then he sighed. “I wish I could have at least seen more of this ruin.” The glass caught the eerie blue light, glistening as it spun off into a dark corner of the room.

  The glass hit the far wall with a sharp ting.

  “Nice throw.” Matoh nodded. “Useless gesture, but it was a nice throw.”

  Just then, the ground beneath them began to shake, and the entire room rumbled.

  Sand began to fall from the dome above.

  “Move!” Matoh yelled, and Wayran darted back just as more glass started falling.

  “Get back to the edge of the room!” Wayran yelled, sprinting forward to get beyond the collapsing dome.

  “What’s happening?!” Matoh yelled over the rumbling noise.

  “The spikes! Look!” Wayran pointed.

  The giant metal spikes were descending into the floor, shaking the entire room.

  Matoh felt his back hit the wall. Wayran’s did the same, and they watched sand pouring down from above. The strange overhead lights flickered but stayed on, fully illuminating the sand pile creeping closer and closer to them.

  “I thought you said we weren’t going to get buried!” Matoh yelled.

  “I said we were lucky not to have been!” his brother answered.

  “Looks like we might have used up our luck.” Matoh began to sweat. Buried alive was not a good way to go. The sand was nearly up to his knees, and he could feel the cool metal wall behind his back. He closed his eyes.

  And the rumbling stopped.

  He opened his eyes and saw the sand’s descent slowing to a halt in the faint light from the glowing rods in the ceiling. The pin-like ends of the spikes could just be seen poking out of the sand pile, which now dominated the room.

  “Ha!” Wayran exclaimed, “Still a bit of luck left, it seems!”

  A strange buzzing noise came alive within the wall at their backs, and suddenly the light from overhead brightened to a brilliant white as if someone had just turned on the sun. Lights began to flicker in the tiny gaps between the metal wall panels.

  Matoh pulled himself out of the sand and scrambled up the slope, pulling Wayran with him. “Get back, we don’t know what other surprises there are.”

  The entire wall now had lines of tiny lights running along it, as if the wall itself was waking up.

  The buzzing in the wall stopped, replaced by a whooshing sound off to their right. The sand began to move from that direction.

  “It’s a door!” Wayran yelled, and scrambled towards the source of the noise.

  “Where in Halom’s name did that come from?” Matoh shook his head. He knew they had passed that spot nearly a dozen times and had inspected the wall thoroughly.

  “Who cares, let’s get out of here!” Wayran said as he shuffled through the sand towards the exit.

  Matoh was right on his heels.

  His brother was through the door already, and Matoh moved to follow, when something caught his eye. It was a piece of glass, and it looked almost identical to the one Wayran had thrown. In fact, he was sure it was the same piece of glass.

  There was a sharp crack and then a ping from above. Matoh looked up to see the snaking line in the remaining glass overhead grow longer.

  “Come on, Matoh!” Wayran beckoned from the other side of the doorway.

  “Just a second.” Matoh fought his way through the sand and grabbed the shard of glass Wayran had thrown.

  Another crack boomed through the room. Sand began to fall like rain onto his shoulders. “What are you doing! Get in here now!” Wayran yelled.

  Matoh ran for it, but his feet kept getting trapped by the falling sand. “Not yet, Lady Death,” he growled. “You can’t have me yet!” He pushed with everything he had, more swimming through the sand now than walking.

  A deafening pop sounded from above as the rest of the glass dome gave way and the enormous dune above crashed into the room. Matoh dived forward with every ounce of strength he had but felt the weight of a mountain smash down around him.

  Then there was silence. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe.

  Everything was dark.

  Then something scratched his fingers, and then he felt his brother grab his hand.

  “You stupid idiot,” Wayran growled as he alternated between pulling and digging Matoh out of the sand. “What could have been so important that it made you go back in there?”

  Matoh spat the sand from his mouth as Wayran gave a final heave to pull him free.

  “This.” Matoh opened his hand to show Wayran the shard of glass. It had cut his hand, but it was still intact.

  “What?” Wayran frowned, looking exasperated.

  Matoh stood up and brushed himself off. He held up the shard to see it better. “This is the piece of glass you threw.”

  “So?!” Wayran held out his hands flabbergasted.

  “Well, you made a wish, and it opened a door for us.” Matoh shrugged his shoulders. “I figured it might still be useful.”

  Wayran rubbed his eyes in frustration and sighed, “Let’s just go.” He walked down the hall, not waiting for Matoh.

  “What?” Matoh asked, shrugging his shoulders as he pocketed the shard. “It makes sense to me.” He took a few quick steps before catching up with his brother, and together they walked deeper into the Jendar ruin.

  3 - Paradise Found – Jonah

  Lost Wandering

  Looking at the walls,

  Wondering if this is home.

  Blurred memories of storied pasts,

  Tugging at heartstrings with pain and pleasure.

  Glistening in the back of the mind,

  Calling like a harpy’s song.

  Blurred arrows of raining misery,

  Tugging at back, sinew and bone.

  Glistening metal tips light the way,

  Beckoning like the fabled Lady’s call.

  Looking at the walls,

  Knowing home is forever gone.

  - Jonah of Clan Sandir

  Mist swirled gently through the underbrush as pairs of tiny feet sprang from cover onto the lush green grasses. Long ears poked up out of the low-lying fog as the very air waited with bated breath and watched as they silently bounced through the white haze.

  Jonah Sandir crouched in the wet leaves beneath the great oak spreading its gnarled limbs above him. Autumn’s kiss had only begun to touch the thin green leaves, and in the twilight the vibrant colours bursting forth in the canopy above were dimmed in the silver moonlight. His hand found the coarse bark of the trunk and he let his fingers play across it for a moment as he watched the serene meadow with fascination. The enormous trees were everywhere in this land, great hulking things spread like stalwart forest guardians populating the rolling hills. He breathed in the night air and could not help the smile which spread upon his lips. There is life here, he told himself, and it is all around us
.

  “What are they?” a quiet voice whispered. The speaker seemed nervous that even his soft whisper might be enough to break the spell which encased the meadow.

  Jonah wiped a hand through his course black hair before his hand went to rest on his longbow. The touch was enough to tell him he was not dreaming. Ilene would have loved it here. The familiar sadness made the breath catch in his chest. One day, my love, I will show this to you.

  “Are they some sort of forest spirits, do you think?” Fin asked. His whispered voice was growing in volume and excitement, which made Jonah smile. Innocence must be what kept Fin so young at heart. He looked over at his big companion and envied him. Jonah had lost his innocence a long time ago.

  Fin’s question needed to be answered, however, or Fin would continue generating stories, each one wilder than its predecessor.

  Jonah could see Branson rolling his eyes. A leather hood hid most of Branson’s rugged features, but Jonah knew the veteran foot-bowman was fuming inside. Jonah didn’t have to see the expression on his old friend’s face to know he was scowling. Branson had told Fin several times he’d have to be quiet.

  “I think, my superstitious friend, that these are in fact called rabbits,” Jonah whispered, making sure not to startle the creatures. I am the wind in the leaves, my little friends, he thought to the rabbits, nothing to worry about. He kept his eyes glued to the dozens of pairs of ears bobbing through the mist, hoping he would not see any of them bolt.

  Fin looked as if he was mulling over Jonah’s answer. “Rabbits? Never heard of ’em. You sure they’re not spirits, Jonah? There could be all sorts in a forest like this. Little furry spirits, I bet.”

  Branson shot Jonah a look that could have melted glass. The whites of his eyes shone with anger, making him look almost demonic. The moonlight brought out the contrast of Branson’s white hair and beard against his midnight skin and dark leather cloak, which made the old man’s anger all the more intimidating.

  Jonah signalled for Branson to be patient, which only elicited a disgusted look in return. Jonah grimaced; he would have to appease the old badger with some of his good tobacco, no doubt.

  “Well, I’m willing to risk it for a chance to have some meat,” Jonah told Fin. “Quiet now and I might be able to show you what a rabbit is.” Jonah kept his gaze on the small shapes grazing the meadow. Branson must be ready to kill the both of us by now.

  The fog was thickening; soon the small creatures would disappear altogether beneath the thick white blanket. It was now or never.

  Jonah drew an arrow from his quiver slowly and fitted it to his bowstring. He kept his eyes on the bouncing pairs of ears in the meadow while his finger played across the soft feathers of his fletching. He felt the thick but loose shield shape of the goose feather and knew it was one of his hunting arrows. The weight had confirmed its type, but he had checked the fletching just to make sure. The thick feathers and lighter weight were needed to compensate for the power of his war bow, which he had made himself. The Sandir Clan were good at building, and he had modified his bow with some very unique counterweights and sights, which gave him what he considered a truer shot. Jonah’s hand reflexively checked the fletching one more time as a horrific image of what an enormous black arrow would do to a rabbit flitted through his mind.

  He lifted his hand to Branson, signalling he was ready. He raised the bow and pulled the bowstring back with his three leather-clad fingers; thousands of hours of training had made the motion so fluid it felt as natural as walking. In Jonah’s mind, he held nothing but the target. It was this moment he loved: the clarity, the absolute perfection of that instant when everything was in alignment. His body would know when it was time, his muscles going through their familiar dance as they flexed and compensated for the almost imperceptible sway of his body. Jonah let his mind drift into an emptiness devoid of all emotion, of past wrongs, of pain, and, most importantly, devoid of memories.

  The target was everything, consuming every part of Jonah’s mind, until the moment when all the swaying converged into that perfect union and the target floated into position.

  Now.

  His fingers slipped off the bowstring.

  The yellow dyed fletching spun through the mist and a pair of ears dropped.

  His heart beat and he saw another pair of ears. Notch, Draw, Release. Another moment of nothing but a target. Peace. Clarity.

  Notch, Draw, Release. And it was over.

  Three spots of yellow stuck up in the mist. Jonah knew they had found their targets, but he felt a flash of regret. He would have to wait for another excuse to fire his bow, before he could once again float in the void of emptiness. Tomorrow morning I’ll get a chance. He sighed as he watched dozens of ears disappear into the mist.

  “Come on.” Jonah stood up. “We need to be back soon.”

  “That was incredible, Jonah!” Fin crashed through the bush to clap him on the back. The big man had an enormous grin on his face. “Where in the blazes did you learn to shoot like that?”

  Every Sandir knows how to do that, he thought. “The Clan master taught me,” he said. “Lots of rock lizards near Tin City.” He caught Branson’s chastising look and could almost hear his old friend’s condescending voice: ‘For every lie you tell, you must invent a dozen more to make it true.’ Jonah didn’t like lying to Fin, but he had some secrets which needed to stay hidden.

  Branson knew most of those secrets, but the old badger would take them to his grave with him. Whatever his other faults, Branson was loyal through and through.

  Too many secrets, Jonah thought as he stepped from the bush to recover his arrows; so many in fact there are some I have forgotten. He thought that should be funny, but he found it troubling instead.

  Always his mind came back to this. The feeling that something were missing. There was something he should remember, it seemed important, but the thoughts wouldn’t solidify. It felt like trying to focus on something out of the corner of your eye. He would catch phantom slivers of memory, and as soon as he noticed it, the memories would fade away, like smoke on the wind.

  He clenched his jaw as a familiar headache began to throb behind his eyes. I’ve been down this path before. Jonah remembered the pain; it came every time he thought he was about to remember.

  Branson was glaring at him, and shaking his head slightly. He’ll tell me to stop pushing it. To leave it. And Branson was most likely right, but Jonah couldn’t leave it. He should, though, it didn’t really matter. All that mattered now was his duty as a bowman, his duty to the Empire, and finding a way to make Ilene happy again.

  The Prince had led them across the Barrier Sea, something which hadn’t been done for millennia. They had found a magical land hidden by the great storms, and Jonah knew he wasn’t the only one in the army who had suddenly begun dreaming again. This land held answers for more than just himself.

  Dozens of his fellow soldiers had begun talking about what they might do if they settled down on this side of the sea. Opportunities were presenting themselves, and that hope was reinvigorating souls who had all but given up.

  Jonah let his hand touch the grass as he started making his way to the rabbits. The mist felt good against his skin, and the sensation began to tickle memories once again. We made love on a night like this, he remembered. It was the grass, it reminded him of the gardens in Eura City, where he had his first night with Ilene. He remembered her shy smile when she slipped out of her white silken gown. Even now, the memory made his heart flutter. She said the mist felt good. She had laughed and danced naked through the grass. Ilene had been happy then. For a brief instant she had been happy, and on that night Jonah had known no other woman would ever compare. It was the night which changed his life in Court. Jonah had started neglecting his duties in the Fertility Circles and had found reasons to keep his Clan functions close to those of Ilene’s. Their secret hadn’t stayed a secret for long, and they had been labelled “rebellious”, as if monogamy were some great sin. Some of
the tribal clans in the far desert still practiced marriage vows, and Jonah and Ilene had found the idea inspirationally romantic. Romance, however, had no place in the Euran Empire, at least no place within the Fecund Blood. No, if you were fertile in their desolate empire, your duty was to further your line, expand your Clan, and ensure humanity’s survival.

  Yet this place beyond the storms, it was holy. Jonah could feel it all around him. Life teemed everywhere, and its discovery would change everything.

  Fin’s long stride carried him to the rabbits first and he stood over the little creatures with his hands on his hips. His face was a picture. It looked like he didn’t know whether to be sad at the demise of the wondrous little things or happy at the prospect of fresh meat after the long months at sea. “Well, would you look at that.” He peered down at the still form lying in the grass, making no attempt to hide his rapt fascination. “Craziest thing I ever did see! Look at the ears ... wow.” His eyes still looked a bit sad, despite the big man’s excitement.

  “Don’t worry, Fin. We’ll say a prayer for the little souls and give thanks for their sacrifice.” Jonah patted him on the shoulder to try and alleviate his sadness. “Plus, you’ll be much happier when you smell them cooking. Fresh game beats salt pork or herring any day.” Jonah was thoroughly sick of herring. Every day for the last month.

  Fin seemed happy at the mention of food. His close-cropped blond hair and slight baby-face made him look much younger and simpler than he actually was. It was a stark contrast to Jonah’s own dark and rugged image and Branson’s grizzled features.

  Despite his often foppish appearance, Fin was an excellent warrior. He was a good foot-bowmen, and in fact carried the biggest foot-bow in all the Black Rain; but what set him apart was the giant claymore sword he also took with him into battle. Jonah had seen Fin single-handedly defend a retreat by chopping down two charging horsemen with that long slender blade. When Fin drew that giant weapon, all sense of innocence evaporated from him and the northern barbarian heritage, so visible in his features, came out in full.