Rise of the Seer

by Brandon Barr

  She saw hope in other paths for her realm. The restoration of broken alliances and the healing of old wounds between kingdoms. It would come at the cost of her people’s pride, land, and honor, but it was honest. Persuading the people of Blue Mountain Hold to travel such a radically different road was a concern that kept her up nights. Change, she was growing to discover, was a leap from a gallows into the unknown.

  But there were many things that kept her up nights—her body was housed by an anxious spirit. As much as she both cherished and feared the role of Luminary, closer to her inner heart, she feared the tradition that accompanied being a woman and a Luminary—a Luminess.

  She could never marry. Such were the customs since the beginning, and only Kayia—a Luminess whose name had become a byword for prostitutes and licentious girls—had broken this chain.

  Unless she forsook her responsibility as heiress, she could never experience the love of a man. Such was the duty of a Luminess. For her, it would be a hard path, feeling more and more like a curse as her swelling passions and longings were screaming for her to surrender. A curse which, in the beginning, she believed in and embraced as good, but now, as desire wore on and her heart panged for a companion, she began to doubt

  Meluscia turned back to the books lying open on the table inside her room. Sunlight warmed their leathered pages.

  “Lava brains!” she cursed aloud. She hurried to shut the heavy gray curtain. The approach of her father’s army had distracted her and, unthinking, she’d exposed the manuscripts by throwing open the curtains.

  They were the oldest copies of their titles in the Hold. One was thought to be an original from the hand of the unnamed woman who penned it. Such was the opinion of her friend, Scriptorian Katlel. Though if he knew his young acolyte had taken them from the Scriptorium—or worse, that she’d exposed them to the sun—the last of his gray hair would go white.

  With care she placed the books in a basket lined with fox fur, then left the tower with her precious cargo, making her way down the steep staircase illuminated by a shaft of light coming from above. The entire fortress-hold was a gigantic worm tunnel of interconnected rooms woven together by cold, black passageways. Blue Mountain Hold had been hewn by many thousands of years of slow and steady expansion, by the will of Luminaries of five millennia.

  She doubted whether her father, or any of the oldest servants, had explored a fourth of the vacant rooms and dormant passageways. In its high years, she’d been told the Blue Mountain Hold housed more than one-hundred thousand citizens, and that another two hundred thousand lived amongst the thirteen adjoining peaks. Five thousand full-time soldiers had protected the realm, with another sixteen thousand of the populace serving seasonal duty.

  A far cry from the meager thirty thousand citizens presently in the Hold. The Hold had never recuperated from the losses suffered three hundred years ago when it was allied with the Verdlands and the two Sea Kingdoms to fight the Beast who’d overtaken the Star Garden Realm. The Nightmares issuing forth from the Star Garden, that once friendly land, did not relent after the slaughter of her people’s armies, and the toll the creeping horrors took on her people’s minds was palpable. The forests of her land were once safe places, but now the possibility of danger was only a shadow’s reach from the mountain.

  And the patrols…they were distracted by skirmishes and standoffs with the people of the Verdlands. If only their focus could be shifted to what was real, to every cruel thing slithering or stalking out of the wastelands.

  Meluscia’s fingers brushed along the smooth rock walls, guiding her through the darkest runs as she descended to the middle plateau. The walls became narrow as the light grew brighter. Finally, she ducked out of the cold mountain passage into hot sunlight, her cool skin tingling at the sudden warmth. She rolled up the loose sleeves of her velvet dress, allowing the sun to touch as much of her bare body as she dared.

  Ahead of her, fruit trees fell away in long rows. A servant girl saw her and immediately gave an awkward bow from the top of a ladder within an apple tree.

  “Your hair is gorgeous, Chrisstanlay,” said Meluscia, pleased she remembered the girl’s name. She prided herself in knowing every servant’s name—even the more obscure ones she seldom saw. She had never seen Chrisstanlay in the orchard before, and she couldn’t recall where she had seen her previously working. “Please, take a basket of apples home with you and share them. Tell the orchard keeper we spoke. She’ll know.”

  The girl bowed, keeping her head down, afraid to make eye contact.

  Meluscia’s eyes narrowed. “Next time I see you, perhaps I won’t be in such a hurry, and you can teach me how you braid your hair like that. It truly is lovely.”

  The girl’s head rose a little, her eyes finally meeting Meluscia’s. “I’d be glad to,” said Chrisstanlay with a smile.

  Meluscia nodded. “Until then.” She returned the smile and set off, glad to have bridged the gap between servant and royalty. Meluscia knew how the girl had done her braids but, if she had the chance, she’d let the girl teach her. Anything to connect with her people and show them their high value.

  At the western edge of the orchard she came to the Scriptorium. It looked like nothing more than a large boulder on the edge of a cliff. An ancient tree coming out of the soil at the side of the boulder marked the entrance. Meluscia carefully scaled the gigantic rock, holding the basket of books in the crook of her elbow. She gripped the hand holds, never allowing her mind to dwell on the sheer cliff face just beyond the tree that towered over the lower plateau. At the top she steadied herself on the tree, then reached her hand up inside a squirrel hole and squeezed a lever. A door cracked open in the large trunk, just big enough for Katlel’s modest paunch to wriggle through.

  In the pure darkness within, she traversed the wooden staircase that spiraled down into a deep space hollowed out of the boulder. Her feet met the smooth rock floor, and her hands reached up and retrieved two fire stones from a notch above the entrance. Quickly, she rubbed them together over a primed twig. Two scrapes, and the sparks brought the twig to a soft glow. Soon, Meluscia had the entire cavern lit with the soft, refracted light of large, red-tinged crystals that jutted down from the rock ceiling. The scribe’s table rested like an altar in the corner before the two stone walls that stretched up to the height of three men and out to the length of five.

  An enchantment of sorts held her feet still for a moment. Each time she beheld the Scriptorium, she experienced a little of the awe from that first day, when Katlel and her father offered her an apprenticeship. She’d felt the holiness of the place. The old stories, the laws, the cherished histories of her ancestors, and the sacred writings that showed the beauty of the gods’ ways.

  Meluscia took the books she borrowed from her bag and began putting them in the fur-lined alcoves. If her father heard tell of the attempted rescue party she’d led ten days prior, he’d be furious but, underneath that, he’d be proud, and her chance for the throne would not be damaged. And yet, she found it ironic that, if he knew which books she spent her time reading, or who she found inspirational in the histories, her chances of attaining the throne would vanish in an instant.

  Monaiella, a Luminess from the Age of Primacy, was counted among the weakest and most unfaithful rulers of the Hold. She was the last to reign while the Star Portal was still part of Blue Mountain’s domain, during the time when the Verdlands helped them defeat Isolaug, the immortal Beast. But then the Verdlands took the portal region as recompense. It would be less than a hundred years after when a schism allowed the people of the Star Portal to declare their own king, and the Star Garden Realm was born.

  It was Monaiella, the very ruler who was ranked amongst the most uninspiring figures in their histories that gave Meluscia hope and strength to be a Luminary, and not forsake her conscience, or the peacemaking spirit within her.

  She replaced a book in her sack with a new one then reached in for the Book of Intimacy, the last book to return to its plac
e, but her hands held it, clung to it, and to everything it gave rise to in her mind.

  It had become a curse, the passion and love experienced with Jonakin, the lover she had created in her mind. Jonakin had sparked to life out of the boy she’d fallen in love with when she was fourteen. He’d been the son of the blacksmith, and he’d joined the army to fight the Nightmares after his older brother was killed. He kissed her for the first time before he left on the patrol from which he never returned.

  Her first kiss. A kiss from which the burn never fully left her lips or her heart. Over the years, he grew in her imagination, becoming a man, a friend, and a lover, until now, he was so much a part of her that hardly a night went by that she didn’t lay in her bed trying to still her thoughts, trying to escape into sleep without thinking of him. Without imagining he was there beside her.

  She knew his mature laugh. The deep timbre of his voice when he said her name. He was somewhat rough and untamed—not the skinny young boy of her youth, but a man who knew the suffering in their land intimately yet was not destroyed by it. He could lift her head. Empower her with a look or a word and give her strength to face the challenges of her position.

  Jonakin lived and breathed in her imagination, but he impacted her waking world when she grasped hold of him as if he were truly there. Could his absence ever be sufferable? She needed him emotionally…and physically. It had become the only way to make peace with the sexual being inside her. She wondered if an imaginary husband and lover could ever soothe the missing strength and the loss of intimacy that being a Luminess demanded of her life?

  She closed her eyes, her surroundings fading from existence. If she had to love a ghost in her mind to pacify her greatest weakness, then so be it. She glided her fingers softly over her lips, the warmth of Jonakin’s mouth and the scent of his body becoming reality.

  “Don’t let your father find you like this.”

  Meluscia opened her eyes and spun, her cheeks burning.

  The smell of horse sweat and dust met her. At the bottom of the winding stairs stood Savarah, her father’s mercy child. Her sister, in all practicality. She was a year younger than Meluscia, hair whitish brown, like the Kaolinite mineral, a lithe, muscular body like a boy's, but for her breasts. Her green eyes were alight with the fires of suffering, like many of the older, war-ravaged women in the Hold, but her eyes were harder than all. The determination her brow and mouth bore from her inward scars added a grimness to an otherwise delicate face.

  Meluscia knew the girl well, in some regards. Savarah arrived at Blue Mountain Hold in the dead of winter wrapped in blood-soaked quilts, a half-mad eleven-year-old, breathing death threats upon the Beast, Isolaug, and his Nightmares, who had butchered her mother, father, and two younger brothers.

  Savarah had been taken in as a mercy child by Meluscia’s father and had lived for the last ten years in the chamber across from hers. They considered one another sisters, maybe even friends, in an odd sense of the word. For Meluscia, it had been a strange relationship.

  Meluscia tenderly slid the Book of Intimacy back into its place. “Father would understand,” said Meluscia. “Even a Luminess’s heart isn’t deadwood. And, besides, there are other books I’m more concerned being found with.”

  Savarah pressed her lips into a rare smile. “Yes, my wicked, wicked sister, reader of so many degenerate books. If only you could rid yourself of that gentle spirit and learn to lie, hate, and kill with conviction, then you would be a good Luminess.” Her mouth faded back into a grim line.

  Meluscia bared her teeth in an uneasy smile, a defense against her sister’s dark cynicism. It was hard to tell if she was giving a compliment or just being scathingly sarcastic. “What news from patrol?”

  “Most of our time was a waste. We camped on the borders of the Verdlands and did nothing. But the return journey was worthwhile. Your father’s ten riders killed twenty Nightmares between them. I outmatched Osiiun for once, killing five to his four. On the return journey, Kaurkim lost his arm to a black tiger. Jardi killed it with an arrow through the eye from nineteen lengths out. Only he could have made that shot. Kaurkim can thank the Makers he’s alive. He might as well have lost his eyes with his arm. An animal that big in a tree right ahead of you—he’s blind as old Coriama.”

  “Ara will suffer greatly. With their twins not yet crawling, and her brother killed only a month ago.”

  “Kaurkim lost just one arm,” said Savarah. “He can still hold a baby and hammer his metals. She’ll suffer less than you imagine.”

  “Still, he will never hold Ara as he used to.”

  “It will bother her less than it would you.”

  Meluscia wondered what Savarah meant by that but decided not to ask. Savarah could lay out an insult like no other person at the Hold. “Is my father keeping his word to fight only Nightmares? Or is he still using the patrols to raid the Verdlands’ farms?”

  “Does his ghost haunt you?” asked Savarah, stepping closer, her eyes fixed curiously on her. “I saw you as if his lips were on yours. Is he there, in your mind, or—”

  “Stop. Please.” Meluscia met her sister’s unwavering eyes, half-frightened, but also enchanted.

  “I find it fascinating that you can’t let go of this Jonakin spirit.”

  Meluscia stared at Savarah in sudden horror. “How do you know that name?”

  “It is not the first time, or the tenth, that I’ve found you lost in his presence. On patrol, your father says that when I want to run in silence, I sound like the forest breathing. And when I walk, I’m as quiet as an Aeraphim.” Savarah’s eyes held mischief in them, and a touch of a smile spread her lips. “You are not as quiet as you think when he is with you in your room. You are a rather noisy lover.”

  Meluscia’s mouth fell open. Embarrassment and anger set her face and arms tingling. In all their years together, Savarah had never once spoken like this. Nothing so personal. Who was this girl before her? Not Savarah—not anymore.

  “Are you putting your ear to my door?” Meluscia snapped.

  “There’s no need. Anyone passing by can hear the muffled sounds coming from your room. You’re fortunate that only I live so high up on the cliff. So tell me about your ghost. Your secret fascinates me.”

  Savarah’s stance was demanding: dirt stained arms crossed over a leather-plated shirt, her head tilted to one side. There was an openness in her eyes. And a strange hunger.

  What had happened to her hard-hearted sister?

  Meluscia hesitated to give her an answer, but if there was one person she strangely trusted with this secret, it was Savarah. While most women gossiped and primped, Savarah cut down monstrosities with a sword, savvied herself in politics, and bathed far less than any woman in the realm. And it was only Meluscia that Savarah came to about her horrible vengeance dreams, or with retellings of her family’s bloody murders.

  “Jonakin is a ghost,” said Meluscia, “but one I have conjured up from my own mind…my imagination of a man I do not wish to name.”

  In truth, Jonakin the boy had taken on the attributes of Mica, another man she’d come to fixate on. But Jonakin was a safer and more pious fantasy—if her fantasies could be called pious at all—for Mica was both alive and married. He could only be inspiration for Jonakin, for even if he were unmarried, she could not pursue him. Not if she was to be Luminess.

  Meluscia examined her sister’s face. There was something vigorous and fresh vibrating through the grim exterior. “What’s come over you? You never talk like this.”

  “I’ll tell you sometime. Perhaps. A change of heart, you might say.” Savarah brushed a stray wisp of white-and-brown hair back to its place behind her ear.

  For a moment, Meluscia caught a glimpse of a girl that was beautiful, the hard angles of her face smooth and soft.

  Savarah raised an eyebrow. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Meluscia reined in her curiosity and shook her head.

  Savarah scowled. “You asked me earlie
r if your father was still raiding the farmlands of King Feaor.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “…Why think he would stop? We always find Nightmares to kill, but food is in short supply, and the Verdlands are rich with crops.”

  “He told me he was considering stopping the raids.”

  “Your father is sensitive to your leanings. He was only pacifying you.”

  Meluscia leaned against the soft furs of the bookcase behind her, finding strength there. “Do you ever feel like killing Nightmares is like shooting arrows at a boulder?”

  “It’s worse,” said Savarah. “We are ramming our heads against a mountain.”

  “We have to unite,” said Meluscia. The books lining the walls at her back confirmed for her the path she must take. “I must unite us. If the Hold can join with King Feaor and the Verdlands, then the Sea Kingdoms would follow us. We could make a stand against Isolaug and take back the Star Garden Realm.”

  A pleased look spread across Savarah’s face. “You are bold, dear sister. And you are not petty. That is your great strength. Isolaug must be brought low. That wicked spirit is far more powerful than any of the kings or luminaries believe. He must be dealt with or his strength will only increase.”

  “Would you keep fighting the Nightmares with patrols?” asked Meluscia.

  “Yes. But purely for the blood. Not for the false hope that one day they’ll stop showing up in our woods to take our resources and pillage our towns. Every Nightmare I drop with an arrow or cut down with a blade restores a drop of life back into my veins. It’s a foretaste of a future I can feel…just as vivid in my mind as Jonakin’s lips were against your own when I first saw you.” Savarah closed her eyes. “My dreams have changed, Meluscia. I relish the day I find the one who made me what I am. I know his face so well. His smell. The look in his inhuman eyes.

  “I dreamt of him again last night. I cut open his stomach, and while he was still alive, I pulled out my mother and father, alive inside him. I splayed his underside open like an animal, then skinned him. In my dream, he was writhing when I was finished. I didn’t want it to be a dream, but that’s how I knew. He should have been still. That’s how I knew, and I woke.”