“How soon do you think it will be until Nannaven arrives?” Reiv asked over his shoulder.
“It may be a while,” Torin said. “Surely you don’t intend to—”
“Of course I intend to! What else can I do? I have taken it this far. I have no choice but to finish the task.”
“And what task would that be?” a voice asked. Nannaven stepped through the doorway, Dayn and Alicine at her back.
Reiv rose from the cot, hope coursing through him.
“What task?” Nannaven repeated.
“Spirit Keeper,” Torin said, bowing slightly. “Reiv has slain a great snake and thinks it is Seirgotha.”
“Seirgotha?” Nannaven exclaimed. Her eyes darted to the bed where Kerrik lay. She rushed over to the unconscious child. “The beast did this?”
“Yes,” Reiv said, stepping from the boy’s bedside, “and I have slain it. Now I understand I must undergo some sort of ritual to save him. Is this so?”
“So legend tells,” Nannaven said.
“Then let us get on with it,” Reiv said.
Nannaven looked at him, then at Kerrik. “There are issues to be considered.”
“Yes, I know,” Reiv said impatiently, “but there is no time to worry about them now. If I must undergo the ritual then—”
“Reiv, you don’t understand what you are proposing,” she said. “There’s too much risk involved. To transcend to the gods is a task no mere mortal has ever undertaken successfully. Only the Priestess has been known to do it. You could be sacrificing your very life.”
“What do you mean, sacrificing his life?” Dayn cried, taking a step forward.
“According to Shell Seeker legend,” Nannaven explained, “the slayer of a devil such as Seirgotha can receive the gift of knowledge if he transcends to the gods. This can only be accomplished through a ritual whereby the slayer drinks a potion that will take him to the Between Realm, that place between this world and the next. There’s no guarantee the gods will accept him or that they’ll allow him to return. And if they don’t—”
“If they don’t, what?” Alicine demanded.
“I die,” Reiv said. “But if I do not do this, then I might as well be, for I would bear Kerrik’s death for the rest of my life. This is my chance to save him.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in prophecies,” Alicine said. “You said they were nothing more than superstitions. Don’t you see? That’s what this is.”
“Perhaps,” Reiv said, “but do you also recall that I said prophecies were for desperate people with no hope left? Well, I am one of those people.”
“Kerrik would not want you to do this,” Alicine said. “He would not want you to drink poison and risk your life for some silly superstition.”
“Reiv,” Nannaven said, “whether it’s silly superstition or true prophecy, are you so certain this is your part to play in it? There are many who believe your role lies elsewhere. That’s why we’re here now. Guards are seeking you in Pobu as we speak. It’s only a matter of time before they learn of your whereabouts. We were coming to warn you when we met Jensa’s messenger on the road. That’s why we arrived so quickly; not only because you sent for us, but because the King is looking for the Unnamed One. He is looking for you.”
“How can anyone say for certain what role is meant for whom?” Reiv said. “I do not believe I am the Unnamed One. Is it possible that role is meant for another, that I am meant to be Transcendor instead?”
Nannaven stared at him as though looking at him for the first time. “Very well,” she said at last. “Prophecy or not, what will be will be. Where is the creature?”
“On the beach.”
Nannaven turned to the others. “Torin…escort Reiv to the Place of Observance, then you will need to gather some men to watch the road. We don’t need any unexpected visitors during the ritual, so we must make haste. Jensa…go to the beach and gather some venom from the beast. The potion will require a touch of the creature’s magic. Dayn and Alicine…you may stay and help me prepare the potion.” She glanced at Kerrik and frowned. “The boy is waning. The ritual must be performed soon if there is any hope for him.”
Everyone went about their errands, leaving Nannaven, Alicine, and Dayn in the hut to make preparations.
“Let me see now,” Nannaven muttered. “If I remember correctly, I will need some dried ciralum, some milnwon, and leaves of the pyrolagos—but only the red ones.”
“If you remember correctly?” Dayn exclaimed.
Nannaven scowled. “We have not been allowed to write things down for many years, so are now dependent on our memories. It has been a long time since this ritual has been attempted, but variations of the formula have been used for other purposes. I’m confident of the measurements, but I’ll verify them with the Elders to be certain.”
“But, Spirit Keeper,” Alicine said. “You said pyrolagos. You know that’s—”
“I don’t have time to explain every ingredient to you,” Nannaven said harshly. She rummaged about in Jensa’s cabinet, pulling out a bottle and a tiny cloth bag drawn together with string. “I’ll also need some boshini syrup and a bit of myr. I don’t see those here.” She turned her head to Alicine. “You’ll need to make inquiries in the village.”
Alicine looked startled. “But, some of those are…Nannaven, those ingredients can’t be right.”
Nannaven walked over and took Alicine’s hands in hers. “Listen, child, Reiv wants to do this. He knows the risk. How do you think he’ll reach the Between Realm, with honey water? This is the recipe given to us by the gods. If they see fit to send him back, then it will be done. If not…” She shrugged and shook her head. “It is likely Kerrik’s only hope. What would you have me do? Deny Reiv a chance to save the boy? Deny Kerrik any chance at all?”
“No,” Alicine said, pulling her hands from Nannaven’s grasp. “But I don’t believe in things such as this. It’s nonsense. This potion is not from any god, just as it’s not a god that will choose whether or not Reiv lives. There’s only one God and He would not approve of this. If Reiv dies, it will be by our will, not that of any god.”
“Then you’ll not fetch the things I’ve asked for?”
“No, I won’t do it!” Alicine spun and rushed from the hut.
Jensa entered through the doorway, backing in as she watched Alicine run in the other direction. The vial of venom clutched in her hand shook within her grasp.
“You have it…good,” Nannaven said. “This beast. Is it the one, do you think?”
“It can be no other,” Jensa said, her voice barely a whisper.
Nannaven nodded, then took the vial. “There are some ingredients we need to seek in the village. Alicine doesn’t have the will to do it.”
“Can you blame her?” Dayn said, marching toward her. “You’d feed Reiv poison and watch him die while you proclaim it the will of your gods? This is nothing short of murder and I can’t believe he’s going along with it. We’ll not be a part of it, Nannaven. If Reiv dies it will be on your head!” He stormed out in search of his sister.
****
The ritual was an ancient one that had been tried numerous times over the generations by those seeking the power of knowledge. But none had ever slain a beast so great as the one now lying on the beach, and none had ever survived the ritual. It was simple in its design, for all it required was a mixture of herbs and a bit of venom from the serpent’s fang. Once it was drunk, the person would hover in the realm between life and death, awaiting the decision of the gods. If allowed to return, the Transcendor would bring back great knowledge.
Word spread like wildfire throughout the village that the prince was attempting the ritual, and all of Meirla was now gathered before the Place of Observance. The beast that had been killed was a wonder in itself, but it was the thing Reiv was about to do that had the villagers in awe.
The Place of Observance was a large circular building of palm fronds and reeds, carefully woven and tended by the Elders of t
he village. It was there that the religious leaders meditated, performed rituals, and taught their lessons. And it was the only place considered sacred enough for one to Transcend.
As Reiv was led by Torin to the sacred place, he glanced sideways at the villagers lining the pathway on either side of him. Their expressions were nothing like those that had greeted him when he first arrived weeks before. Now most stood with heads bowed in reverence while the rest gaped at him in wide-eyed wonder. A heavy blanket of silence left him feeling just as uncomfortable as when he’d first arrived in Meirla. That day he had been met by taunts and laughter. Now the only sounds he could hear were the roar of the sea, the rustle of the fronds overhead, and the hammering of his own heart.
They stopped before the doorway and Reiv surveyed the carved, god-like figures towering on either side of it. Fine hairs stood up on the back of his neck; the strange deities looked none too friendly. Torin motioned him in, and Reiv took a hesitant step through the threshold. He looked back and saw appreciation in Torin’s eyes.
“I will see it done,” Reiv assured him.
“Then I am forever your servant,” Torin responded.
“Perhaps a truce instead?”
Torin nodded, grim-faced. Then Reiv pulled in a breath and ducked into the hut.
He was met by three elderly men who led him to the far side of the room. There they ordered him to undress. Preparations had to be made, they said, for he was required to meet the gods looking his best. Reiv followed their instructions without question and soon found himself being cleansed from head to foot with cloths soaked in a cool liquid that smelled of wintergreen and lavender. While one man combed Reiv’s hair and braided it with intertwining strands of cockleshells, another re-adorned his eyes with kohl, meticulously drawn. Since Reiv had not yet been tattooed, designs were painted across his forehead and around his arms. He was clothed in a decorative skirt with a braided belt around his waist. Strands of shell beads were placed around his neck. Reiv grew impatient with the formalities, thinking them foolish and unnecessary when a boy lay dying. But he clenched his teeth and endured it silently, fighting to keep his body from fidgeting throughout the ordeal.
At last the Elders finished their task and left him there alone. Reiv paced back and forth, until Nannaven swept through the entrance, the three Elders trailing behind her. The men stopped and stood quietly to the side while the Spirit Keeper approached Reiv. She held up a clear glass bottle filled with an equally clear liquid.
“Are you certain you still wish to do this?” she asked.
Reiv eyed the bottle nervously, then nodded.
Nannaven instructed him to lie down on a mat that had been placed near the central fire pit. She knelt beside him, adjusting his necklaces so they lay upon his chest just so.
“Is there anything else you wish before we begin?” she asked.
“I would like Dayn and Alicine to be here, if that is permitted.”
She nodded and rose, then exited through the flap of the doorway.
Reiv lay upon the mat of palms and stared at the fronds layered high above, watching their delicate branches curl from the smoke spiraling around them. The hut was dim and cool, and the scent of smoky incense blanketed the room. Reiv folded his hands across his belly and crossed his legs at the ankles, determined to stop the nervous twitches that betrayed his fear.
The Spirit Keeper returned with Dayn and Alicine.
Reiv smiled. “I am pleased that you came,” he said, but the glum faces staring down at him did not return the sentiment.
“Reiv,” Nannaven said, “before you undertake this ritual, you must understand and accept it. You must be not only willing, but eager to take the journey. You’ll drink this and then you’ll leave your body and slip into that place between this world and the next. Your heart will continue to beat, and your chest will rise and fall with the breath in your lungs, but your spirit will no longer be housed within your body. But reaching the Between Realm will not be enough; you must pass beyond ego, desire, and fear to reach transcension. If the gods accept you, you will be granted the knowledge you seek and will be sent back to rejoin your physical form. If they deny you, you will not be allowed to return to this world. Once you meet the gods, you cannot return by free will alone. If they don’t grant you passage back, then the life of your physical body will ebb away. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Nannaven knelt and held the potion to his lips. He raised his head and drank it down. It tasted foul, but he made no indication of it and laid his head back on the pallet.
Dayn and Alicine sat down beside him. “I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Dayn said.
“Listen, Dayn, I need to tell you—”
“No,” Dayn interrupted, “there’ll be time for you to tell me when you get back. I’ll be waiting right here.”
“I know, but in case the gods are not feeling generous today, I wanted to thank you for the dirk. You are a fine craftsman, cousin. It is what I slew Seirgotha with, you know.”
Dayn swallowed hard.
Alicine took hold of Reiv’s hand. “I know it’s too late to talk you out of this,” she said, “but since we have to put up with your stubbornness again, I think it only fair that we’re allowed to torture you with the words ‘we love you’.”
“Oh, gods, that must mean you surely expect me to die,” Reiv said. He smiled, then his face grew serious. “Well, if we are going to torture each other with truths, then I suppose it only fair to tell you that I—” But before he could finish the sentence, his body arched back, and his head pounded violently against the ground.
Alicine cried out and found herself shoved to the side.
Dayn pressed his hands upon Reiv’s shoulders, fighting to hold him down, but a harsh kick to the chest knocked Dayn onto his backside.
Nannaven shouldered her way in and placed her hands upon Reiv’s cheeks. She held his face between her palms and spoke desperate words of comfort, but to no avail. She shouted at him, commanding him to calm as though her authority would somehow have power over him. But her shouts were drowned out by his screams and guttural gasps for air.
The Spirit Keeper’s face went white as ash. She leaned back, trembling from head to foot. “This is not as it should be,” she said. “It shouldn’t be so violent. He was only meant to go into a deep sleep.”
“Well then do something!” Dayn screamed over his shoulder as he continued to fight Reiv’s thrashings.
“Is he dying? Is he dying?” Alicine’s desperate voice cried over and over.
“Stay with us Reiv,” Dayn begged. “Stay with us.”
Reiv relaxed beneath Dayn’s hands, and his body went still except for the rapid breaths pushing his chest up and down in successive bursts. His body was bathed in sweat, and the paintings on his arms were smeared from Dayn’s hold on them. The cockle band that wound through Reiv’s hair was broken to pieces, scattered amongst the tendrils now trailing across the mat.
Reiv’s eyelids shot open and he stared with wide eyes, their violet color sparkling like crystal reflecting starlight. Then his lips grew still and barely parted, and his eyes went dull as though an opaque veil had been draped across them. All went quiet as one long, last breath hissed from his lips.
BACK TO ToC
Chapter 15: Beyond the Veil
The room was white, bright, and familiar, its furnishings elegant and inviting. A great poster-bed rested against the far wall, its coverlet as soft and billowy as a cloud. The floor was of polished white marble and shone like glass, reflecting the candles that dotted the room. Upon the walls, frescoes were painted, the warriors depicted in them lifelike in their replication. A full-length mirror and carved dressing table stood nearby. Upon it lay a fine sword, a golden lion molded at its hilt.
The boy stood before an arched window, surveying the room with bright, violet eyes. He turned and leaned his elbows against the windowsill, gazing out at a landscape that stretched to an eternal horizon.
The hills in the distance looked like lavender scarves rippling beneath a golden sky, and the patchwork fields were like ornamental tapestries draped across the land. The boy drew a deep breath, relishing the sweet scent of honeysuckle drifting up the trellis.
A tap sounded at the door. “May I come in?” a muffled voice asked.
“Enter,” the boy said.
The door opened and a woman swept in. She was not in a swirl of yellow as he had expected, but in a gown of purest white. Nor was her hair white-blonde, but silver-gray and loose at her shoulders. She was elderly and her features were lined, not young like… The boy furrowed his brow and watched as the woman flitted about the room lighting candles and fluffing pillows. She smiled and crossed over to him, her hazel eyes twinkling.
“You were not expecting me?” she asked.
“Who are you?”
The woman arched a brow. “A better question might be, who are you?”
“You mean, you do not know?”
“Oh, I know,” the woman replied. “Do you?”
“Of course. I am…” The boy paused and looked down at himself. He assessed the fine yellow tunic draped down his body, and the silver braided belt that was wrapped around his waist. He twisted his head toward each shoulder, noting the amethyst clasps that gathered the material. His gaze moved to his hands and his breath caught in his throat. The skin upon them was pale and smooth, and his fingers straight. He curled them into fists, joyful at the newfound strength he felt within them.
“I am Ruairi,” he said, grinning.
“Ah, so you are,” the woman said. “Why have you come so soon, Ruairi?”
“Why have I come? Because I live here, of course.”
“But you did not live here before.”
He tilted his head and fixed his eyes upon her. “No, I think for a time I lived someplace else.”
“Do you remember where?”
“I think…no, I do not wish to think. Too much unpleasantness.” He turned away and gazed around the room, savoring every detail of it, then strolled to the full-length mirror across the way. He smiled as he inspected his reflection with satisfaction. “I am here now. That is all that matters,” he said.
Souls of Aredyrah 2 - The Search for the Unnamed One Page 11