Book of Kayal: Houses of Light

by S. Nileson

  “We continued our search.” The answer came swiftly to Archer. It was the truth, but it hid enough to be considered a lie by many of those accustomed to Sennan culture.

  “Ah, good thing you’re back then, I guess.” He turned around and continued his careful watching of the Estgardians working. Many hung from thick ropes and worked on adding the final details to the Stymphalian, some functional but most aesthetic.

  “Can we have a word, Lord Commodore?” Ascilla asked soldierly, somehow suppressing all that was feminine in her speech.

  “Aye, lassy. What can I do you for?”

  After receiving a look from Ascilla, Archer said, “We have a bit of an issue concerning that bear we were hunting.”

  “Ah, that little thing. It’s all forgotten now. We have bigger things to worry about.” He turned around and shouted, the words directed at the Estgardians rather than the foreigners, “We have deadlines to meet!”

  “Shut up you drunken fool, you yonder,” several Estgardians replied in unison, some adding more than others but all starting the same way.

  Archer looked at Ascilla and shrugged, Keteus and Balta wondering between themselves at what to do next, each keeping their opinions unspoken. “Well,” Archer said, “I guess I’m here to say we’re leaving for Kol.”

  “Off you go then, lads.”

  Archer was left dumbfounded, none of his companions contributing to the decision, each confused in their own way and surprised by how easily the business with the bear was forgotten.”

  “Eh, Commodore,” Archer said. “Regarding that letter we gave you earlier, was there anything in it involving us?”

  “What letter. Oh, no there wasn’t. It was empty. Just a seal and some paper.”

  “Ok. I guess that’s farewell, Commodore.”

  The Commodore waved his hand dismissively, his attention directed at the Stymphalian.

  Chapter 15: And Desert Jewel

  ‘Some say it is a strange thing that I chose to live my life in the shadows. In truth, I find it strange that anyone would not.’ The Link from The Wolfiad.

  1

  “We’ve been walking for quite some time now and there’s still no sign of Alvissmal,” Balta complained as he struggled to move his heavy feet on the soft desert sands marking the dominion of the Alvians.

  They tried to rent some kamools from Estgard, but since the death of Servak and the deterioration of the Empire, trade between the two nations had taken a turn to the worse. Instead of having several caravans traveling a week, there were, at most, one or two a month. Smaller traders, those who often were too small to own their own kamools, had all but gone. Their prospects turned towards easier and more lucrative routes. The band had to make the journey on foot, taking plenty of food and water with them, hopping from oasis to oasis.

  “It shouldn’t be long now,” Ascilla comforted Balta. “There,” Ascilla said, pointing at a distant vista dancing with the heat waves on top of the horizon. It was a patch with a few palm trees standing tall and proud for all to see. “We’ve reached our final destination. And just in time to replenish our water too.”

  “And some food,” Balta added. Fond of the dates they collected from the trees in the Alvian desert, Balta was always the first to run through his portion of the sweet fruit.

  “A few more steps and we’ll be there.” It was an exaggeration.

  Whenever the band made it to an oasis they would rest for some time, after having their bellies swollen with food and drink and their feet wobbly with the little added weight. Ascilla was the only who kept her consumption to reasonable levels, always ready to move.

  “Tell me, Balta,” Archer said, leaning on a palm tree just where the shadow of its trunk fell, “will you really go on with this trip? Even if I don’t join you?”

  “You know me, brother. Once I set my mind on something I see it through. Your trip is important and someone has to do it.” He looked at Archer fondly. “Don’t get me wrong. There is no blame or judgement coming from me.”

  “I know. You’ve never been the type anyway.” Archer took a bite of the succulent red date. It was cooler that he expected and the scorching sun and desert heat seemed to have little influence on how refreshing it was. After swallowing the small morsel he added, “I haven’t decided yet how far I’ll go.”

  “Archer, I want you to finish it, along with Ascilla, Keteus and I.”

  “I know.” He took another bite and repeated the thought to himself, I know.

  2

  They reached Alvissmal, its beauty catching them by surprise – all save for Ascilla who was no stranger to the Desert Jewel. Breath escaped them when they first saw it twinkling with the reflection of the sun, a sandy hill conveniently hiding it away so that all those who arrived from the east would see the entirety of the city once they made their way atop the hill.

  It was a marvel, the glass blocks by which its walls were built made it luster like a thousand diamonds. The torches within it being lit as the sun was setting made it even more deserving of the name by which it had been dubbed.

  Alvissmal was, in all possible interpretations, a jewel of the desert; a city to be proud of.

  After admiring the beautiful sight, the travelers followed the Walkyrien, noticing how the distance between them and their guide grew. The eastern gate was left widely open, its guarded doors greeting the travelers majestically.

  “What do we do here?” Archer asked of Ascilla, his voice reserved. “How can we get to Kol the quickest?”

  “Patience, Archer. I think we’re all deserve a proper night’s sleep.” She looked at Balta then at Keteus, earning a nod from each in turn.

  “Young one, while your lives are indeed short there is no reason they should be lived in haste,” Keteus said. “In fact many would agree that it’s due even more luxury as its temporariness makes your experiences ever so sweet. We are close from our destination and there is no seeming threat about us. Some rest and relaxation is long past due.”

  “I have to agree with the old man on that one,” Balta added. “Also I’m not sure I’ve fully recovered yet from that ugly business in Estgard. The trip didn’t make things easier for me either.”

  “Well,” Archer said, too busy watching the wonders of Alvissmal and its empty artistic streets to look at his companions as he spoke, “The decision falls to Balta, I believe. At this point I consider myself to have lost the right to say where to go or when.”

  “Is that true?” Balta asked with a disapproving tone.

  “I’ve abandoned the quest and you took it on my behalf. The choice is yours, Balta. Now is my turn to follow.”

  “Regardless of who’s taken the burden,” Ascilla said, “we’re all involved now. Anyone following one of us would be following the rest. Anyway, we have to find a good place to spend the night and possibly even the following one. We don’t know what’s awaiting us in Kol.”

  Keteus saw a small cozy inn built with an opaque type of glass which grabbed his attention. Like all buildings in Alvissmal it had sharp edges and a rectangular front, the longer sides facing the ground and sky. There were no windows and a single glass door masterfully crafted with an appearance of sturdiness and delicacy. He did not know how such material was made and had every intention to find out during his stay of undetermined length. A single indication of the establishment’s name was fashioned on a particularly large glass brick atop the door which identified the building ‘Desert Gem Inn.’

  Keteus pointed at the gripping place and said, “This one looks good.”

  The rest agreed.

  3

  “Archer,” Ascilla called quietly as the four companions sat on a table in the Desert Gem Inn on which they had had a satiating breakfast, “don’t look back and try to act natural.” She leaned in, casually, extending her arm to grab Keteus’ empty mug of quench and pretending to take a sip, covering her lips as she whispered. “That woman behind you has been keeping a careful watch over us.” She dropped the mug and retur
ned it to Keteus, smiling femininely and thanking her old companion.

  “I sensed it too.” Archer had grown accustomed to occasionally strong bouts of feelings emanating from those near him; one of Ganis’ many gifts. “There is no ill intend from this one.” He spoke freely with a low voice, knowing there was no way his lips could betray the words to the stranger of interest.

  “What do you propose?”

  “Trust me on this one, Ascilla.” He looked at Balta and Keteus, nodding to each in turn, and stood up, pushing his stool back and releasing an unpleasant squeak as it scratched the polished floor.

  He turned back to face the stranger and smiled to her as he approached, eyes aiming for hers. “Good day,” he said.

  “Good day,” the stranger replied. “Would you care to join an old woman for a warm breakfast?”

  “I would love to.” He sat down in front of the woman, silently admiring the graceful way by which she had aged.

  A bowl arrived with a steaming soup in it and the woman proceeded to delicately nitpick at it, taking small bites of whatever her spoon picked. “I’m Anaria,” the silver-haired woman said. She was slim and carried herself in an impressive way, commanding attention and respect in spite of how frail she appeared to be to the untrained eye.

  “And I Archer. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Anaria.”

  She smiled pleasantly and said, “Just Anaria, please. There is no need to make an old woman feel her age. Tell me, Archer, what brings you to Alvissmal?”

  “Just passing through. You?”

  “Well, I live here.”

  “I didn’t expect that. You don’t seem Alvian to me.”

  “Not all those who live here are Alvian.” She took a sip of the liquid alone and took her time swallowing the soup before adding, “I do not know where I was born but my first memory was of Gallecia, back when it was a white city. So where are you heading to?”

  “I’m sorry, Anaria, but I was told it wasn’t wise to share such things.”

  “Oh, dear. I meant no offense. I just wanted to know if you were heading to Kol by any chance. I was hoping you would and could take an old woman along. At my age these voyages are a dreadful thing if you travel alone.”

  “I suppose we can drop you off there.” The words came from Archer without him giving them much though. As soon as he realized it he silently cursed at the needless duty he had caused himself. Archer did not know how much slower their journey would be with Anaria, or how he would explain to his companions that he had just agreed to escort a complete stranger to Kol. He was left dumbfounded.

  “You are a kind soul. Pax bless you, child. Is something troubling you?”

  “Not at all.” Archer smiled childishly. “It’s just I’m not sure when we’ll be traveling or by which means.”

  “Don’t worry about that, dear, I have some kamools we can use, enough for your companions too. It is the least I can do. As for when, I have to say I myself have no preference, just that the time would suit you.” Anaria’s voice was remarkably soothing to Archer. Her tone was soft and gentle, quite motherly too, and it rung in Archer’s ear with a strange familiarity. He felt, for the first time since his journey began, safe.

  Anaria took a final sip from her bowl and gently rested the spoon on its edge. She left more than half its contents. “Well that is it for me. I have a few things to prepare now, dear. Just leave a message with the innkeeper for me about the time of your departure. The kamools will be ready starting this noon.” She slowly stood up and made for the exit, disappearing as gracefully as Archer expected.

  Archer took a deep breath and thanked Fate for favoring him so before he returned to his companions.

  “So,” Ascilla said, “who was she?”

  “She said her name was Anaria and that she’ll lend us some kamools for the journey to Kol.”

  Ascilla’s face grew pale and her eyes widened. “Anaria Shadestrike?”

  “She only told me of Anaria. What concerns you so?”

  “If this was Anaria Shadestrike than we better pray to Pax that she’s on our side.”

  “Who exactly is this Shadestrike of yours?”

  “Only the fiercest assassin to ever walk these lands.”

  There was silence.

  4

  Keteus sat by the window of the room his companions had rented, reflecting on the events of their journey and how much joy it brought him to feel involved in a quest with people he considered friends. It was a welcomed reprieve from his centuries of seclusion.

  Ascilla and Balta had gone out to replenish their supplies and explore the city, the former guiding the latter, and Archer remained with Keteus, laying on the bed engrossed in a book he had found in the drawer. Archer was not much of a reader yet the activity appealed to his senses.

  “Young one,” Keteus said, interrupting Archer’s concentration and earning himself his immediate attention, “I’ve noticed that we’ve grown to talk quite similarly during these few months together.”

  “Really?” Archer said in an uninterested tone. He wanted to get back to his reading and kept his thumb secured on the paragraph on which he stopped, marking where his eyes should continue from.

  “Indeed. Even our thoughts have become similar, I believe. We no longer argue the way we used to. Ascilla no longer looks at me with suspicion or insists on having me within her line of sight.”

  “I didn’t think about it before.” He remembered the journey from Estgard to Alvissmal and noticed that, since their reunion, indeed Ascilla rarely walked behind their aged companion. “I suppose she’s grown accustomed to you.”

  “How about you, Archer, have you grown accustomed to me?” Keteus’ pale eyes stared directly at Archer, his mouth faintly contorted in a way that made the dragon look at least two decades younger, his wrinkles even lessened.

  “To your strange habits, well I suppose I did. You were always an ally to me, Keteus, I never doubted your intentions or kindness.”

  “Thank you, Archer. You don’t know how much these kind words mean to me.” Indeed the words meant much to Terketeus, the dragon once ruling the Sky Wing, for he took a solemn and silent vow that day that he would do all that he could to convince dragonkind that those they regarded as mere cattle have outgrown their place and earned a right to be considered equals.

  5

  Anaria Shadestrike had he kamools prepared, saddled and loaded with all the food and drink their riders would need during their trip to Kol. Her delicate frame sat masterfully on the humped animal and a grey shawl covered her head, a matching cloak her body.

  The four travelers mounted, each in their own way; Ascilla being the most dexterous and Keteus the least, stumbling numerous times comically and stirring laughs from his companions, even a giggle or two from Anaria.

  Ascilla kept a careful eye on the old woman, keeping on her guard and secretly praying to Pax, an act she would never admit out loud, that if she was indeed Anaria Shadestrike, she would be on their side. Until her suspicions were proven or disproven, she would not rest; she could not rest.

  “I hope we weren’t late, Anaria,” Archer said apologetically. They were late.

  “Just on time, child. Thank you for taking an old woman with you.” She turned her kamools around and made way to Kol, slowing down when the others started moving to lessen the distance until they got comfortable with riding the unusual creature.

  And so they made to Kol.

  Part IV: To a Message Read

  Chapter 16: When Fate Guides

  ‘We are all children of Nosgard. We ought to act as such.’ Warchief Starkad from The Wolfiad.

  1

  “So the Emperor made his move.” Warchief Starkad stood tall in his Kolian palace, slowly walking around the throne room after having heard the news Khatar brought. While he had known of Stonerift’s fate, he never received word of who was behind the attack and how it was made to look like a Kolian raid; an unusually brutal one too.

  “I would not be
too certain about that, Warchief,” Khatar said decisively yet with respect. The Varangian had healed from all the wounds he had suffered near Partha in an engagement with a band of derelict Peacekeepers, completing his recovery while traveling.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Teeban, Warchief, might be making his own moves behind the Emperor’s back.”

  “I too suspect him of having his own agenda. Damn the Sky Wing!” Starkad rammed his fist atop a wooden table with a painfully loud bang. It was a strike charged with much anger. “If things continue the way they are a war with Partha would be inevitable. There is a limit to what Iolcus or I can do to stop the hostilities. Not before long the very people will rise against us and force our hands, or claim our heads.”

  “The Varangian would never allow it, Warchief.”

  Starkad looked at Khatar as if he were a naïve child, eyebrows slightly raised and tone hushed. “Khatar, you Varangians are the best warriors Kol has ever seen. But make no mistake, you alone cannot stand against the rest of Kol.”

  “We can stand, Warchief. Perhaps not for long, but by Rostam we can stand.”

  “I will not stay idle while I watch you cut down, no matter how valiantly you fight.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Enough of that talk. Now, what else is there?”

  “The Silver Stags that were with me, Warchief, have been released and granted asylum by Prince Iolcus. I explained to him that we had no intention of harming Archer, just bringing him to you. They will stay in Parthan territory and await any signal for his arrival. Should he be located, they have been instructed to aid him in whatever way they can.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Prince Iolcus is convinced that Archer is the Demigod Emperor Servak’s youngest son, Salus.”

  At the utterance of Salus’ name Starkad went blank, raising his hand suddenly and commanding the Varangian to halt his speech. After a moment of silence he said, “Salus is not dead?”