by Susan Faw
A square grey tent swelled into sight guarded by four sentries, one stationed at each corner. At the flap of the entrance, two more guards stood. Cyrus bent to enter the tent, ignoring their salutes.
He straightened then gazed down at the prisoners staked to the ground. Three men stared back at him, stripped to the waist, hands and feet bound, stretched vertically, and tied to wooden stakes driven into the ground. At the sight of him, their eyes widened. Sweat broke out on their foreheads.
The tent flap opened again and an inquisitor, dressed in a boiled leather jerkin and linen shirt, entered the tent. The ties of his shirt hung loose, the mat of chest hair glistening with sweat. Two glowing tongs were clutched in his hands.
Cyrus grinned. How he enjoyed his freedom. Three men…and Alcina only needed one.
Chapter 4
Cathair
CAYDEN WANDERED THE CASTLE, familiarizing himself with its layout. It was immense. Originally it had been a stone hunting lodge, a vacation home for the first noble family of Cathair. Additions had been built onto it over the centuries until present day where it sprawled over a full acre of land and stood four stories tall.
The wall walk was Cayden’s favorite place to be, for he could pace around the upper reaches and see the stretch of land in all directions. Up that high, he finally found peace from the whispers of the dead and the demands of the living, a constant cacophony of noise that intruded on his waking hours.
The original lodge now served as the central kitchens. Even at this early hour, the lodge hummed with activity—cooks frying eggs and bacon, pulling loaves of toasty corn bread out of the hearth, and whipping fresh cream into a soft butter blended with honey. Cayden sniffed as he walked past. His stomach growled, but he did not pause. Breakfast would have to wait.
He entered a covered alcove and pulled open the heavy wooden door that housed the Royal Cathairian Library. Generations of Cathairians had collected and stored the most fragile of works in the library, which was rumoured to have existed before the lodge, as a center of learning. Just as the castle was littered with catacombs so the library had an equally elaborate and wholly uncharted underground.
Cayden pulled the door shut behind him and paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim recesses. No candles burned in the building, no open flame, no oil lanterns. Instead, the interior was lit by a large parabolic mirror that hung in the dome of the ceiling and reflected the light of the sun, and was mounted on a clever array of gearings that allowed it to be moved and kept in precise alignment with the sun during the daylight hours, constantly gathering the sun’s rays, even on the cloudiest of days, and redirecting them into the cavernous room.
The first time Cayden entered the library in the evening, he carried a lantern that he’d used to light his way. Unknown to him, lanterns were to be left on the hanging peg in the portico. The only thing that had saved him from the wrath of the librarian named Brennus was the fact that Mordecai had already preceded him into the library and was able to fend off the broom-wielding caretaker.
“No flame in the library, you foolish boy!” Brennus had shrieked with a wild light in his eye. The fact that his hair stood on end like the ruff of an angry rooster only enhanced his menacing profile. Cayden ducked, and the broom swished over his head before halting mysteriously in midair. It was then that Brennus truly looked at Cayden. He gaped at the royal robes that Cayden was forced to wear. Brennus’s jaw had snapped shut with an audible click as realization dawned.
“Brennus, I would like you to meet our new king. Sire, this is Brennus, archival librarian, at your service.” Mordecai snapped his fingers, and the broom in Brennus’s hands vanished.
Brennus bowed low to Cayden, hands on knees in apology. “My apologies, Sire. I did not realize that it was you.”
“It is nothing.” Cayden lowered his hands from the anticipated strike. “The fault is mine. I did not stop to think about whether flame is allowed in the library.” Cayden frowned. Now that Mordecai had moved, he saw that the library was lit. While it did not have the full brightness of daylight, it did contain enough light should one wish to read. It was Cayden’s turn to be amazed. His mouth fell open in surprise.
Mordecai chuckled. “Perhaps, Brennus, you should show your king through your domain and explain why he doesn’t need a flame.”
Brennus bowed low again. “Sire, will you follow me?” He tentatively tugged on Cayden’s arm and pulled him through the library, babbling away about the mirrors and sunlight and the glow bulbs and the gods providing light in the darkest of days.
“What he means, Cayden, is that the wizards of old were rather good at alchemy. It’s a simple enough combination, a mixture of basic elements. Strontium and aluminate come to mind and oxygen, a bit of heat, some tweaking of the crystalline, and you have these—phosphorus crystals. For colour, I like to add a pinch of fruit juice. Gives off a nice aroma when it heats up and the colour is truer. It’s quite simple, really.” He rocked back on his heels admiring the handiwork as though it was his own.
Perhaps it was Mordecai’s work. Cayden wasn’t quite sure.
The dome structure set into the library ceiling was huge and sat on the stone walls of the circular room like half an egg, the top “whites” made of an opaque glasswork and the bottom “yolk” covered in glittering frescos depicting the gods and ancient wars long forgotten. The never-ending scene morphed from one view to another, and Cayden found himself wanting to lie down on the slate floors and gaze up at the artwork. The reliefs were so precise that they appeared three-dimensional.
Crystalized scenes of forests, rushing waters, and towering mountains, of fishing boats and rolling fields of poppies, all scenes from across the kingdom flowed down the walls and framed the stained-glass windows evenly spaced within the stone walls. These were wedged between large bookcases, jammed with scrolls and leather-bound books and blocks of parchment, each bookcase set with its own rolling ladder.
Tables were scattered throughout the library and some reading nooks with pillowed seating placed under the stained glass. On every table and mounted in the nook was a round sphere encased in crystal, glittering with a fresco of the gods.
After that first rocky introduction, the library became Cayden’s favorite haunt. He spent a great amount of time in the library, seeking to learn about his kingdom, its history and its people, especially since his greeting on arrival had been less than thunderous applause. Mordecai set him to reading the history of Cathair and its rulers, trying to catch up on seventeen years of education lost to him, an education that would have been provided by his royal parent. His father Gaius, the only one he had ever known, had taught him and Avery to read, but books had been scarce and he found the older texts housed in the library difficult to decipher. While the texts were legible, the syntax of language used had changed, so that he found himself referencing other writings to try to sort out the convolutions of the language structure and word choice in context. It was laborious and grueling work at times simply to get through a text.
Yesterday, however, Cayden had stumbled across a reference that had made his heart lurch. He’d gasped aloud, reading the text five times to be sure of what it said.
He hurried back to the book and pulled it once again from the shelf. It was heavy, the parchment yellowed and cracked, the pages stiff and bound by heavy leather-wrapped wooden covers and embossed with gold lettering. He carried it to his favorite alcove, the stained glass depicting the Well of Souls. While it did not look anything like the real well, it did manage to capture the essence of the place. The flattened angels faced each other, crowded around the edges of the window, golden horns raised in triumphant call.
He placed the book on the table and ran his hand over the embossed lettering, muttering under his breath, “Na Déithe de Antiquity Cogadh Chéad” (The Gods of Antiquity, First War). Then he opened the book to the page that had caught his eye and ran his finger down to the spot where he had left off reading.
The birth of four ch
ildren was a strange twist of fate, for the ancient gods normally abstained from earthly entertainments. It was regarded as the height of folly to intercede in mortal affairs, yet one Ancient could not resist the temptation to dabble in mortal pleasures. Morpheus, the God of Dreams, was captivated by woman named Calleigh, who was fair to look upon. Morpheus began visiting her in her dreams, and there they conceived. In one day, the children were born. The Ancients banned Morpheus from their celestial home and cast him to the earth to wander and learn the folly and futility of a mortal life.
Morpheus and Calleigh did not name their four children until their godly gifts became apparent. Artio was the eldest, a lover of the sky and the celestial wonders beyond the earth. One particular constellation, shaped like a bear cub fascinated her and so Calleigh named the child. She was soon followed by the true twins Caerwyn, the fortress, and his twin sister, Alfreda, the mother of the lands. The true twins shared an affinity and some say a shared soul. Unlike their siblings, the true twins could sense each other at all times and read each other’s thoughts. They were said to be one person in two bodies. Alfreda would gift a new people to the earth, a people known as the Primordials. Lastly the youngest, Helga, displayed an affinity for the dead, for things that were ready to return to the earth.
In time, jealous squabbles broke out between the godlings. Morpheus, in an attempt to create peace, separated his children into different spheres of influence. Artio was given dominion over the sky, moon, and stars and was tasked with managing the movements of the heavenly bodies. Caerwyn and Alfreda were sent to work with the souls of the earth, each within their affinity. Alfreda was given charge of the souls of the animal kingdom, for their rebirth was as necessary as a human soul. Caerwyn was given carriage of the souls of humanity and charged with caring for them until it was time for their rebirth. Helga was given charge over the recycling of the earth, the plants, the trees, and the bodies of the dead. As the winter witch, she absorbed the decay of humanity and buried it deep in a blanket of white, one season a year. She created a restful environ for the deceased awaiting rebirth. While it was cold above, it was not so in her mountain home where the fires of punishment burned hot, providing a warm core for the awakening of the world in spring. She was also set as the caretaker of the damned, those souls who were beyond redemption and could not be reborn because of the corruption of their natures.
For a time, they were content within their roles and millennia passed, days fading to years, years fading to centuries. Morpheus returned to the gods on Calleigh’s death, leaving the godlings to care for the world.
One day Artio, the moon godling, slumped to the horizon, blood red. Helga found her oozing a bloody light across the heavens. Convinced that she was dying, Helga carried her sister into the bowels of the earth. The dark stilled Artio’s light. Helga believed that she would be reborn like the rest of the mortals of the earth, but the godling had no one to care for her rebirth, and was forever lost.
Legend had it that Caerwyn and Alfreda banished Helga to the depths of the underworld, never to return, for the crime of slaying a godling.
Cayden lifted his head from the book and pinched the bridge of his nose. The names are too close, he thought, thinking about the legend, especially knowing now what I know about my own abilities.
He needed to speak to Mordecai. Surely, he knew the legends. It was time for a serious chat.
Chapter 5
Faylea
AVERY WAS CERTAIN she could not retrace the twisting path taken by Sharisha despite the frequent glimpses of the massive tree that was their destination. It sat on the horizon, towering above the swampy plain, dominating the skyline.
The humidity increased as they traveled through the dense swamp, snaking along drier patches of surface roots that clung to the water’s edge. The jumbled matting of the thirsty willows created a boardwalk of sorts, wide enough for the horses to traverse safely. Avery’s damp shirt clung to her back as did her father’s, sticking to his sweaty torso. Avery’s head swiveled as she took in the landscape, her mouth opened in awe. The journey had taken the better part of a week even though they had rested infrequently.
The last bridge they crossed extended longer than those previous, rising up out of the swamp and dispensing the travelers onto a wooden platform that ended in an intricately carved archway and an ironwood gate. The gate stood thirty hands tall and was carved straight through the center of an enormous oak tree the crown of which disappeared into the mists. Carved onto the surface of the door were symbols that Avery could not read.
Sharisha rode up to the door and placed her palm on a circular rune on the right side. The rune glowed, and a cloud of blue and white mist swirled around her hand. She withdrew it, and the door swung open. Avery glimpsed a miniature three-dimensional world, like a view through a magnifying glass, before the rune faded back to wood.
“This is the sacred city of Faylea.” Sharisha sat straight in her saddle, her bearing regal. “Humans have not been permitted past this door in over a millennium. Not all will be pleased to grant you access.”
Gaius tapped the sides of the horse, urging Sunny forward. Sunny’s ears swiveled in interest, then pricked forward. “Is it safe for Avery to enter here? I care not for the politics of the land, only my daughter’s safety.”
Sharisha frowned at him for the interruption.
“You will be safe for you are with me, but I would warn you that to wander off on your own would not be wise. Follow me.” She disappeared through the open doorway of the tree.
Sunny frisked through the opening, her nostrils flaring. She swished her tail and seemed excited about whatever she smelled on the other side. The tunnel ran straight as an arrow through the middle of the great tree and at the end, a shaft of brilliant white light illuminated the exit. Beyond the light a dense wood was just visible.
As they crossed the threshold, they drew rein. The sacred city of Faylea spilled from the hillside and lay cupped in a bowl of vibrant green moss that coated every inch of ground. Great purple-spotted toadstools, taller than Avery’s horse, towered like trees above twisting paths creating a polka-dot patchwork of shade across the forest floor. Giant ribbed ferns, planted in curving rows, formed the walls of abodes, the leafy reaches interwoven to create roofs. No house was straight but copied the shape of the ferns, gently bending and curving with the will of the greenery.
Avery was mesmerized. The houses are alive! She slid off Sunny and walked to the edge of the hillside to drink in the scene. Waves of harmony washed over her. Tears sprang to her eyes as she felt the first tentative touch from the sentient growth before her. The intertwined ferns acted as a group conscience, as a single entity with millions of parts, all working cohesively. Avery closed her eyes to better hear the whispered greetings and peace flowed over her.
Sharisha watched as Avery’s mouth quirked and twitched with smiles, staring in the direction of the city. Sharisha did not smile.
“Avery, I think Sharisha is waiting to move on.” Avery’s eyes popped open, and she broke the telepathic contact she was experiencing with the plant life and walked back to her father, who gave her a boost into the saddle behind him.
Without a word, Sharisha urged her mount onto the meandering path that trailed to the base of the bowl. The trail followed whatever curve the land chose to take, but it did take them down. As they passed the fern dwellings, Primordial children poked their heads out of the round windows, curious at the strangers in their midst. They tumbled out of the doorways and followed them, a whispering and giggling processional that swelled in number.
Avery smiled at them and waved, and a pretty girl not yet to puberty offered her a flower filled with a shimmering liquid. Avery reached down and took the flower, smiling her thanks. The girl mimed drinking. Hesitant, Avery lifted the cup of petals to her lips and took a dainty sip. The girl giggled and clapped her hands with joy. The nectar was sweet and light with a slight strawberry taste and left refreshing bubbles on Avery’s tongue. It que
nched her thirst instantly, and she passed it forward for her father to drink.
At the edge of a stream, Sharisha stopped and dismounted. “We must walk from this point. Those who approach the heart of Faylea must do so on their own feet as a display of respect for the sanctity of all life. Leave your things. They and the horses will be cared for.” She dropped her reins and stepped onto the rose-quartz bridge that spanned the babbling brook. The children did not follow as they stepped off onto a stone path on the other side.
The rose gravel crunched under their feet. Now that she was walking the earth, Avery felt a vibration through the soles of her shoes, the rhythm of a heartbeat. The path widened and ended at a clearing flooded with sunlight. At its center stood a shimmering white temple which rose from the ground in stacked squares and stood six stories tall. At every corner, a legendary beast was carved, climbing up the wall to the floor of the next level.
Every inch of wall was decorated with symbols and pictures. On the first level, the motifs were of plants and plant life, the second of aquatic life, and the third of land animals including depictions of humans. The fourth level showed the spirits of both man and beast, and the fifth was carved with fantastical creatures of myth. The final level displayed only four images; each image was shown only once on its own wall and the deeply carved relief covered the entire surface. An alabaster spike rose from the peak, soaring into the sky.
Avery’s eyes climbed the entire structure, taking in the varied images sunk into the marble façade. A matching marble staircase wide enough for four people to walk abreast completed the structure. Ten steps began at the end of the path and ended at a railed landing in front of two wooden doors. A crystal chime sang out, and the doors opened, inviting them to enter.