The Circle of Six: Emily's Quest (Legends of Eostra)

by Sanders, Dan

  Bevan held his Reven blade up to the tube. Sabina hadn’t moved. The slapping of wet feet rushed at him. Bevan was surrounded by four angry Water Sprite holding spears with yellow three-pointed tips aimed at his heart. He dropped his blade in submission. He didn’t care anymore. Sabina was gone. Her change came too late. He had failed.

  A man stepped forward and looked at Bevan. Bevan barely noticed that he held a staff rather than a spear.

  The man ignored Bevan, stepped over to the tube, held his glowing staff against the crystal and said to the lifeless Sabina, “It was you. I—”

  He stepped back and spat words at the watery prison. Bevan was astonished at how quickly the water receded. The tube lifted back into the ceiling. Bevan pushed past the man, dropped to his knees and swept Sabina into his arms. He began sobbing at his loss. Sharp words broke him from his tearful nightmare.

  “Step back, now.”

  A hand, more gentle than he expected, pulled his shoulder away. It was the man with the staff. Bevan watched as the man laid the tip of his staff between Sabina’s eyes. The emerald tip glowed as it touched Sabina’s head.

  He barked at his guards. “She yet lives. Bring her to my chambers.”

  Bevan was agog. Two men stepped forward to lift Sabina but Bevan pushed them away. “I’ll do it.”

  The man with the staff watched Bevan easily lift her into his arms. He nudged Sabina’s head into his shoulder. The man nodded his approval for Bevan to follow him.

  Bevan lost his way as the next hours were a blur. Dazed and weak, with no food or sleep, he remembered carrying Sabina through a maze of variously lit tunnels, higher up into the topmost levels of Nilawen. The man with the staff lived in plush chambers. Bevan faintly remembered gazing through clear crystal that revealed the ocean above. The man must be royalty, he thought. But why spare them? Regardless of Sabina’s transformation, they’d been caught stealing Nilawen’s most valuable artefact.

  They reached their captor’s chamber. He glanced around the room and laid Sabina on a couch. She was quickly attended by the man with the staff. Another shorter man held crystals over her while the staff-man poured liquid into her mouth.

  Bevan stood behind them. At first they paid him no heed. Then the man with the staff turned and said solemnly in the Annwynian tongue, “Answer my questions and you might live.”

  Bevan nodded.

  “Who are you and who is the woman?” the man said.

  “I am Prince Bevan, heir to the throne of Ibendari, and this…“ Bevan choked as he said her name, “… is Sabina Bru of Loric.”

  The man winced at Sabina’s name. His shoulders sagged as he said, “You had better sit. We have things to speak of.”

  “Wait. Tell me who you are and what is going on with Sabina.”

  The man nodded gravely and said, “I am Thieador Agrek, High Chancellor to the King of Nilawen. The girl you have here is Sabinlel, my daughter by Ceru Bru of the Loric.”

  Bevan plopped onto a chair at the drawing table and rocked his head in his hands.

  Thieador dismissed the other man and eased himself into a chair opposite Bevan. He shouted in the Nilawen tongue and arranged for food and drink to be served.

  Bevan was awash with emotions, exhausted from recent events. He wasn’t sure what time it was underwater, but guessed he had crossed over into the final two days to get to Havendel. Strange, he thought, that the Harp was within reach, but he had no time to get it back, and no way of taking it from their captors. He gazed at Sabina, whom he had lost, and who was now alive, and yet she was not Annwynian. She was of the Exotic races, or half of her was. He warily ate from the plankton platter placed before them.

  He looked at the man who said he was Sabina’s father. He had wise eyes and an apparently gentle disposition, and long silver hair full of life. Intricate carvings of blue and green swirled around the fine lines under his eyes, curling up around his ears. Bevan looked closer and saw that under the man’s small ears were four slits that moved rhythmically with each breath. Thieador ran his fingers over the gills in response to Bevan’s obvious thoughts.

  “They are for our time underwater. Our time on land is limited. We must always return to the safety of water.”

  Both turned when Sabina groaned. Bevan was the first to reach her. He knelt beside her and lifted a single strand of silver hair from her face. He gently touched the same blue intricate etching on her skin.

  She stared groggily at Bevan and said through a hoarse throat, “It was you who carried me around Mithra, when I faced death.”

  “What of it?” Bevan said, confused. “It matters not.”

  Sabina saw the man standing over her. “Who are you?”

  “I am Thieador Agrek, High Chancellor of Nilwen. Your name is Sabinlel and…I am your father.”

  Sabina gazed at the man and dropped her head back in exhaustion.

  Thieador said to Bevan, “She must rest. Her life is not yet assured.”

  “We must return to Havendel immediately.”

  “You will not be leaving with Sabinlel.”

  Thieador was a tall wiry being, but Bevan still looked down at the man as he said, “You do not understand. Sabina and I are on a mission for Eostra. We are members of the Circle of Six, and we must meet with the Chosen One.”

  Bevan looked at the swirling colours of the crystal Harp on the table. He thought it was having a conversation with itself.

  Thieador sat down at the table. He spoke slowly but firmly. “So it is true. The seers of Wellwyn were correct. Two thousand years ago they brought the Harp into our care. Why didn’t you come and ask us for it?”

  Bevan was surprised. “Would you have given it to us? Besides we didn’t have time. I know royal protocol, and it would have taken time that we don’t have. Besides, we didn’t know about Sabina’s special—”

  Thieador stared at Sabina. “I have watched her grow, from a distance. Her mother was a Princess in the house of Loric and I from a family of influence. As you would know, the union between Annwynian and Exotic blood is forbidden, but our love could not be stopped. We were discovered and Cera was banished from her linage. My family threatened rejoining her unless I washed her from my life.

  Bevan was angry. “How could you leave her with child?”

  “I did not know we had a child until my mother’s heart softened and she told me I had offspring. While she obeyed my father’s edict for me to remain away from my daughter, Sabina’s grandmother would travel to the far north and play with her and her mother. It was better for Sabinlel that she think I was dead. I live through my mother’s eyes. I have never loved another. Sabinlel is my only family.”

  Bevan was struck by the depth of love this man still had for his daughter and the agony he still endured. He looked across at Sabina’s shallow breathing and posed the question. “So what happens now? Will you help us?”

  Thieador stood and leaned on his staff. “We do not have much time. Eventually the King will be notified and I will have to give an account of what has happened here; and of my shame. The Harp cannot leave. But I will give you transport.”

  Bevan was on his feet. “No! Annwyn needs the Harp or else all will fail. The sacrifice of many lives will be for nought. Your own world will be lost forever to the Dark One.”

  The man pulled a thin blanket over Sabina’s silvery green scales. He shook his head and said, “I will have to speak with the King and let the deliberations take their course. I have shamed our people once in my life. I cannot bring more upon them.”

  Bevan grabbed the Chancellor’s cape and said, “Sabina is not a shame. She has dedicated her life to the understanding and advancement of Annwynian Lore. She is better than you or I. Have courage. If you value her, if you love her, have courage.”

  Just then a swirling light filled the middle of the chamber. As the cloud of light settled, a white haired man in a royal blue robe and with piercing blue eyes stood before them.

  “Magas,” Bevan said.

 
“Hello, Master Gwyngad,” replied the deep voice. The apparition smiled as it shimmered, hovering off the wet floor.

  Magas turned, bowed slightly and said, “Thieador, good to meet again.”

  Thieador said in shock, “Melder Whiteoak. This is a surprise.”

  “I think not. I must speak to you, and the boy.”

  “But—”

  “Silence.”

  Bevan interrupted, pointed to Magas and said, “How are you here?”

  Magas sighed, but said in a restrained voice, “Astral projection. I heard Sabina’s cry for help.”

  Magas turned to Thieador and said, “As my words reach across the thousands of leagues to reach you, Torek and his armies wreak destruction across the land. I am sure you feel it in the rivers, in the estuaries and in the seas. The waterways of Annwyn are your charge. Your King cannot ignore it any longer. He must rise to the aid of the Land.”

  “But—”

  Magas held up his staff and continued, “You will give the boy charge of the Harp. Give him transportation to Newdell. He will be given aid when he arrives.”

  Under the dome that separated them from the deep sea, Magas’ body flickered. The ghostly apparition turned to Bevan and spoke gently but firmly. “Prince of the realm. Your time has come to rise and represent the Earth Lore in the Circle. Take the Harp and deliver it to Havendel. I will meet you there, and with luck, so will the others.”

  “Magas, oh Magas, I lost Daimon. I must find him and save him. What should I do?”

  “My son, Daimon is in the hands of Torek, and in peril. You can rest assured he will be brought to Havendel.”

  “How? Why?”

  “To be used as barter to trade the Artefacts of Harmony, for his life.”

  Bevan’s belly went to water. He knew he should have tried harder. His brown hair fell over his face as his chin dropped to his chest, defeated.

  Magas seemed to read Bevan’s thoughts. “Bevan, as one man you are no match for a Melder, even the young Melder that captured Daimon. Your power will come only when you are united as the Circle. You must see that Harp is delivered to Emily on time.”

  “Sabina is of the Circle. She must come.”

  Magas stroked his long white beard and addressed Thieador. “You will tend to her and see that she is delivered at the appropriate hour. The poison should leave her body now she has found her true form. You must see to it.”

  Thieador’s silvery head nodded submissively.

  Unknown to the others in the room, Sabina had raised herself into a sitting position. She spoke to the shimmering Melder before her. “Melder Whiteoak, I hear you and thank you.”

  Bevan ran to her side and took her hand. “Sabina, I lost you almost twice. My heart will break thrice at the thought of leaving you here.”

  Sabina looked at him, weakly lifted her hand and stroked his face. “I see your mind and feel your heart, Prince Bevan. You must leave me. You must trust Melder Whiteoak.”

  Bevan stared at Magas, “I cannot leave Sabina. I will not.” He stood tall as his eyes rested on Sabina. “I will care for you.”

  Sabina stood and took Bevan’s hand. She placed it on the heart of her new scales, its silver light reflecting purity and elegance across the undersea chamber. “As the prophecy says, ‘My past will become my future’. I understand now. And you must accept yours. I am sorry.”

  “But I… since I first laid eyes on you, I—”

  Sabina stepped close to Bevan. Her green scales cast an emerald hue onto his stricken face. She whispered, “We will meet again, Prince Bevan.”

  Without warning Sabina fell exhausted into Bevan’s arms. He slipped his arm under her legs, picked her up and carried her to the couch. His heart was breaking. He bit his quivering lip. With a thick throat, he stood and said to Magas, “I will do as you ask.” He turned to Sabina’s father and said, “Ensure she is returned to full health. After all these years of neglect, see she is your first charge.”

  Bevan ignored Thieador’s shock, turned back to Sabina, pulled the blanket up to her glittering scaly shoulders, closed her emerald eyes, and pressed his lips against her smooth silvery forehead. He adjusted his Revan blade, straightened himself, wiped a tear from his eye and said, “Come. We have no time.”

  Magas said the final words; “Courage, Care and Connection be with us,” before he evaporated like the mist of a cold river morning.

  Thieador barked orders to his staff and had Bevan escorted to a docking port dedicated to Nilawen royalty. Finally, he thought, proper royal treatment! He bowed to Thieador, slapped his chest in the Ibendari manner, and turned to find himself standing before a gigantic clear bubble.

  He poked the rubbery surface and glared at Thieador and said, “I have a subship waiting for me.”

  “This is the fastest way,” Theiador said. “It will take you to the meeting place. May Eostra be with you.”

  Bevan took a deep breath, adjusted Sabina’s pack containing the Harp, and stepped inside and his hair touched the top of the clear crystal bubble. An invisible door sealed it.

  “Hold on tight,” Thieador yelled into the bubble just before Bevan was shot out of a cannon into the sea.

  His belly lurched. He gripped the railing before him. There were no controls, no door and no way out. He hurtled to the surface, trying to ignore the rushing gurgle of the water bashing on the bubble wall. Abundant sea life in vivid colours and shapes rushed by the clear window. As the light from the surface above filled his vision, the bubble darted and changed direction, throwing him against the rubbery bubble wall. Imagine if Sabina could see him now, he thought with his feet in the air.

  Scrambling to stand, he regained his composure and realised he had popped up to the surface. He was racing along the top of a river with the bubble half-submerged in the water. He suddenly recognised four gleaming Styx in the river beside him. They rode majestic Seltans, golden horses of the sea. They looked across at him. He waved when he realised they were his personal escort. It occurred to him this was the first time in a while he’d been treated as the royal he was, but he didn’t gain any satisfaction from the gesture.

  He looked at the river as it meandered through the valleys into the distance. He guessed he must be on the Filderma River. He ignored the aching tiredness in his body, energised by delivering the Harp to Emily and the others. He hoped Magas would warn them so they were prepared.

  At the last moment, when the bubble came to a halt, it flicked itself against an unseen bump in the water and bounded onto the grass beside the river. As it hit the ground, it popped and Bevan landed hard, rolling over until he came to a stop.

  He brushed himself off and walked to a lone horse grazing on the lush grass. Bevan gazed at his surroundings, and not a single other being was visible on all horizons. It was then he realised the horse he approached was not an ordinary steed. Standing before him, casting an immense shadow, was one of the Nakoth, its royal blue skin shimmering in the sun, its rainbow mane dangling ready to be held.

  Bevan held his breath. He knew all the stories about these Exotic creatures. He had seen only one before, the white beauty that Magas rode. It was the stuff of legend. He drew closer, bowed and reverently touched its broad blue muzzle. The fur felt like the finest silk. The Nakoth whinnied and snorted in delight. Bevan felt it urging him to climb aboard and connect. Even with his superior height Bevan could not reach its back. He reached out and grabbed the dangling mane. His head spun. When he opened his eyes he sat aboard one of the most powerful beings on Annwyn. His heart thumped with jubilation. He felt the ancient power this being drew from the land pumping through his legs and thighs and chest, as though they were one. He gagged on its power. Was this what it was like to be truly connected to the land?

  Bevan composed himself and peered into the distance. Less than a few leagues away he saw the lush boundaries of Drenchwood Forest. He reached his mind out to the land and immediately felt its power. As he closed his eyes and connected more deeply, he felt somet
hing. It was the pain again, an unnatural angry heat, emanating from the rock and the trees. He knew it was the darkness spreading from the north.

  He opened his eyes again and looked around. To the south he saw a red-black mass swarming across the shimmering horizon. It shuffled slowly, deliberately, in the same direction he was heading. His heart thudded against his chest. It was the Paytah. The giant fire-ants were headed for Havendel, in the centre of Annwyn. How in Enki’s name would he get there in time? Bevan calculated that even the fastest horse would take two days.

  He settled himself and looked ahead. With bent elbows he held the rainbow mane ready to launch. He pictured Emily and Lupi in his mind. The Nakoth rose on its hind legs and in a few pounding steps the grass and the horizon became a blur. He realised he was racing to his destiny and to the destiny of the land. He fell into the rhythm of each stride, a stride measured in leagues, the crystal clicking hooves gliding over the grass. He thought of Sabina, or Sabinlel, and his heart ached to see her again.

  Chapter 42

  Emily Meets Torek

  STORVEN STRONGHOLD,

  ANNWYN

  Lupi’s wings hummed as she fumbled Emily through the door to the bedchamber.

  “You’re heavy for a rabbit,” Lupi grunted, pushing the door with her head. “Clouds alive, it’s dark in here. Where’s the rock-light?”

  Tucking her elbows under Emily’s arms, Lupi heaved Emily a little higher to stop her footpads from dragging on the ground.

  The door swung closed behind them. The last thing Emily saw before her life began draining was the glow from a blood-red pendant, and the thin cruel smile of the girl from lunch. She couldn’t quite remember her name. ‘Theni’, came to her mind.