One man was larger than the other two, his size immense, and there was something else about him more fearful than his size. Tattoos crossed his face and bald head, running down his neck onto his arms. The ink nearly covered all of his exposed skin.
From this man, he felt something that made the hairs on his arms stand up. He shook his head, trying to think straight. The slow pulsing had returned. There was something else about the man, something nearly visible, almost an energy radiating from him.
He jerked his head back out of view and squeezed the hilt of his sword. He had to protect the trunk.
He felt strongly about this. It was more than just about the men who’d died protecting it, though that was part of it. Endric’s concern for it had imprinted upon Jakob, and he felt the urgency the general had felt in seeing it safely to Avaneam. He owed something to the general for the time he had spent with him. Only he could protect the trunk and see it to Avaneam.
The pulsing in his head intensified, and Jakob tentatively opened himself to it. He had no control over it, but his awareness heightened with the vibrating, and he welcomed the feeling as it washed over him. His head throbbed with it, and the pulsing sent a slow tingling sensation through the rest of his body.
Carefully, he pushed his head out from behind the tree. The Deshmahne moved cautiously closer. The almost imagined energy radiating from the man was now more of a thin fog surrounding him.
Jakob recognized it; he had seen something similar. A similar fog had surrounded the High Priest. Did that mean he’d be as powerful as the High Priest?
Suddenly, the man brought his eyes around and locked on him. He made no motion as if to move. Simply stared. They knew where he was.
The Deshmahne started forward as one.
“You will come with us,” the large Deshmahne said. It was not shouted, but felt loud in Jakob’s ears. “The Highest summons.”
A chill ran down Jakob’s spine. The High Priest knew of him.
“No,” Jakob croaked, shaking his head, though the word fell from his mouth meekly.
The other two Deshmahne laughed, but the larger man did not. “This is not a request.” His words were felt as much as heard.
In spite of himself, Jakob felt pulled forward before he realized what he was doing and stopped.
“No.” This time his voice was stronger.
He raised his sword in front of him and pulled at the vibration within him as he remembered doing during the battle, and felt an excruciating pain in his skull. It was a tearing, as if a part of his mind ripped loose. The feeling rolled through his mind, through his body, an agony unlike anything he’d felt before. Throughout the pain, the pulsing in his head grew stronger, humming loudly in his ears, shooting through his body.
He screamed.
Jakob struggled to keep his eyes open as they watered with pain. He couldn’t see the Deshmahne, and turned his head side to side quickly, but felt nausea with the movement and stopped. His sword grew heavy, but he feared lowering it, else the Deshmahne would push forward and attack. Jakob smelled them as much as anything, a stench like rot coming from all directions, but could no longer see the men responsible.
He stepped forward, and as he did, his vision cleared slightly.
The large Deshmahne stood before him, almost near enough to touch. His sword was curved and he brought it up. “You will come.” His sword was a taunt as he carefully swung it.
Even through Jakob’s heightened awareness, the sword was a blur. He stepped to the side, his head clearing enough to see, and barely brought his sword up to block. He couldn’t win against this man.
In a panic, he pulled on the vibration within him, praying for the awareness he needed to stay alive, to escape. He’d need every advantage he could manage to survive.
His mind felt ripped asunder, as painful as the last.
Jakob staggered forward, nausea rolling through him.
With the nausea came the feeling of movement and he fell to his knees, his mind spinning. He leaned over to retch, but nothing came. Through it all, he struggled to keep his eyes open, his focus upon the Deshmahne. But he could do so no longer, and collapsed.
Jakob couldn’t move. The trunk was captured. He could almost hear the Deshmahne laughing, thought he felt hot breath on his neck.
What have I done?
He heaved himself forward and felt another tearing of his mind, unbearably worse than the last.
“No!”
The word echoed through his head was chased by strange thoughts: Was this real? Could this all be the madness? Hadn’t his brother screamed like this?
But he had seen Tian die and had watched as Rit took his last breath. He had seen the clearing full of dead Denraen.
Hadn’t he? What if that had all been in his mind?
Jakob threw himself forward again, nausea and a sense of spinning returning as he did. Pushing through it, he surged forward again. And again. And again.
Finally, he couldn’t muster another surge. All the strength had left him. His head was a steady drumbeat, a pulsing pain that sent waves throughout him.
The stench of rot was gone.
Daring to open his eyes, he noticed everything was different.
His vision was hazy, as if a smoky fire obscured his view. He could still see trees, but the sky was different somehow, now gray and clouded where it had been growing dark before.
Strange.
It was the only thought that came.
Then he noticed something else seemed different as well. The ground was not flat as it had been. All around him were hills, rolling and flowing into the horizon. He knew without looking that the city in the distance was gone.
Where was he?
When he turned, two figures stood behind him.
Panicking, he dove to the ground, rolling as he landed, and felt a sharp pain as the trunk crashed into his back and his saddlebags slipped off his shoulder. He twisted noisily as he rolled, eventually coming to rest behind a large bush, ready to defend himself if needed.
He peered out around the bush. Through the haze, a man and a woman stood in a clearing. Not a woman as he knew them, he realized. Her hair was a light flaxen blonde, her skin deeply tanned from the sun. Her face was long and sloped with a slightly different shape.
She was beautiful. There was a warmth about her, friendly and reassuring.
The man was dressed in a simple woolen vest and dark breeches. A sword was sheathed across his back, a dark leather scabbard covering the weapon. Jakob could almost make out the figures adorning the hilt of the man’s sword. Something about them tugged at a memory, but passed. Gray hair was cut raggedly and short gray whiskers covered his face in a beard.
These were not Deshmahne.
They were talking and didn’t seem to notice his appearance or noisy roll to cover. He didn’t know how they could not, but he listened and could just make out their words.
“Sharna, the split was not successful. The people hide in the south, and though no longer attached to the mainland, they reach us still,” the man said.
“We have done much, Niall Tinmril. My people have suffered to save yours.” Her words had an almost musical quality to them.
A pained look came to Niall’s face. “The north is lost, Sharna. The south will soon be, I fear.” As the man spoke, tears welled in Sharna’s eyes. Her eyes were as yellow as the brightest sunflower. “They use ships now to reach us. It was bad enough when they could just cross the land bridge and reach us in the south. Your people stopped that with the split.”
“And many were lost. My husband was lost.”
Niall looked visibly shaken at the news, and tried to regain his composure before going on. “Yet they keep coming. And there are so many of them that the ships keep coming. Ours can only hold them off so much longer,” he said.
Sharna nodded. It was a sad gesture.
“The people expect you to save them. Some still think the gods will save them.”
Sharna laughed ligh
tly, a sweet sound. “Some still think us to be gods, Niall.” She stopped for a moment, looking around. “We are what we are. And we will not be for much longer.”
“I know, my lady. To some you are. To others... to others, you never will be.”
“Much the better, I should think. Better to not have been and failed than to have the hope and the failure. Failure is all I can see. All many can see.”
Jakob sensed an enormity to their words. They spoke of war, though he had heard nothing about a war such as they described. Would Novan hide that from him?
Jakob shook his head. Novan would have shared that news.
Observe and report.
The thought interrupted, and he focused on the two people in front of him. It was what Novan would expect.
Niall nodded. “I have heard.” He seemed to hesitate. To Jakob, it looked as if he was uncertain about how to proceed. “Some still see hope. Some saw the possibility.”
Sharna’s words came out a whispered reply. “The fibers are twisted, that much is true. I can only untangle so far”—she demonstrated with her hands, spreading them wide—“before the tangle falls back into place. Others, they can see farther. That is why you were chosen. That is why you are the one.” She paused long enough to take a deep breath. “Hope? I will not say there is none. Only that I cannot see it.”
She fell silent. There was something different about the haze around her, not the fearsome fog that surrounded the Deshmahne, but similar. Softer, warmer. It was almost welcoming.
Niall seemed content with her answer. Jakob had moved slightly to the side of the bush without realizing it as he’d listened to their conversation. He noticed that he was now completely out in the open. Though he was visible, the hazy smoke still obscured him somewhat from their view. He shifted to his knees, his fingers clawing at the dark grass, and moved slowly back behind the bush.
Sharna glanced in his direction. A slight glance, more occasional than chance alone would have it. He wondered if she knew he was there.
Niall spoke again. “Have your people considered my proposal?”
“It... is risky.” Niall nodded in agreement. “And many more of my people would be lost.”
“Why?”
“That much change, that much energy requires that we give up our own. We have learned this from experiences in the past.”
“Can you not do it slowly?” Niall offered.
She shook her head. “What you ask requires that we work quickly. Otherwise, the effort would be in vain. And speed requires strength. Some among us no longer have that strength.”
The words rattled Niall and his eyes widened.
“We have considered, though. That is enough for now.”
Niall nodded. “The people will be ready. I assure you of that.”
“That is why you were chosen, Niall Tinmril. That is why you are the Uniter.”
Uniter.
Jakob knew the term. Novan had mentioned it and had him read about the Magi practice of the Uniter.
Was this woman a Mage then? She looked nothing like the Magi he’d seen, though admittedly that was few. In many ways, she was different from any woman he had ever seen. He considered the idea that she could be a goddess.
Sharna’s glances became more frequent in his direction. At the same time, he felt as if the energy he saw, what he thought of as her aura, reached toward him. It seemed to beckon him, calling to him. He didn’t know how to respond but knew he needed to leave. Soon. He didn’t feel threatened, but didn’t want either of these people to think he’d been listening.
Finally, Jakob heard Niall ask, “What of our cousins to the east?”
Sharna paused as she thought. “We don’t know. They’ve not come to us in some time. They’re capable in their own ways, though. Doubtless, we could use their help.”
After a brief silence, Niall asked, “What can I do now? How can I serve?”
Sharna shook her head, long blonde hair moving only slightly with the motion. “We must go on as we have been. We will contact you as needed. You still have the gift?” she asked, eyes seeming to examine him before looking back to his face and nodding. “Good.”
“We need to stop him, you know. It could change everything.”
“It may be that he cannot be stopped now. The man has grown strong over the years. We’re not sure how. We don’t know what it will take to stop him now.” She stopped for a moment. “We should have been more careful with him.”
Jakob could almost feel Sharna pull at him now. Her energy seemed to encircle him, cradle him in warmth. As he struggled to figure out how to leave, the pain in his head returned. Not as strong this time around, but still a tearing of his mind. Nausea rolled through him, and the pulsing came again. His head spun, around and around, and he felt the urge to vomit.
Something was wrong.
He struggled against the nausea and the pain again, futile. He felt things move beneath him and the ground tremble. The pain intensified in his head, ripping at his mind. Colors flashed before his eyes. He opened his mouth and his lungs burned.
He screamed until he could no longer hold breath. He panted with the pain, panting because he could do nothing else. It stretched on, seeming an eternity.
Finally, everything ceased.
The pain pulled back to a slight throb, and everything was gone except the pulsing in his mind.
He felt wetness on his cheeks.
He opened his eyes and saw himself surrounded again by trees. Trees so high they blocked out the sun and the sky. Trees so big around, he knew he would grow tired trying to circle them. All about him was strangely dark greenery. He was deep within some great forest, but didn’t know where or how he’d come here.
Am I dreaming or is it the madness?
The smoky haze had followed him so that nothing was clear. No edges were really straight and everything had a slight blur to it, a fuzziness so that he squinted to see. It was much worse here than it had been in the last clearing.
He found himself walking a bit, short strides on his part seeming to take him miles at a time, and he decided that he must be dreaming. The scenery blurred even more as he walked. Pausing, he realized the smoke didn’t clear as he moved. He turned his head, looking around, trying to see if he could make sense out of where he was.
The forest still surrounded him. He was lost. In spite of the anxiety, he felt a sense of serenity and peacefulness.
He took another step. Trees blurred past him and the terrain changed.
Another step and the blurring continued.
It was almost as if with every step, he jumped hundreds of miles, but he knew that couldn’t be so.
He stopped again and his head still throbbed.
Jakob was in a clearing and all around it huge trees formed an almost perfect circle ringing the clearing with their monstrous branches reaching higher into the sky than any others. Dark leaves covered the ground in a thick layer, the smell of their sweet decay teasing his nostrils. Huge gray boulders formed another circle in the center of the clearing. He counted thirteen. Beyond the boulders, he saw little.
Three figures perched atop the boulders. Jakob knew he could be seen standing where he was, just inside the clearing at the edge of the trees, but something told him that he couldn’t. The smoky haze still covered everything, almost in a film, and made it difficult for him to even make out features at his distance. He believed something about the haze protected him, hid him.
He shuffled closer, careful not to move too fast, pulled to the boulders as though by a magnet. He reached the nearest stone and easily climbed atop it. He watched the others as he did, and they seemed not to notice.
One of the people was familiar to him—the blonde hair, darkly tanned skin—and he knew it to be Sharna. Something about her was different, changed from the last time. It took a moment before he understood. She was younger. Her face was smoother, her features a little less severe. He wondered briefly how that could be. Around her, he could clearly se
e colors, an energy. Pale and vague, but he knew he saw it this time. It swirled off of her, toward the other two, occasionally touching the others and pulling back.
The others were the same as Sharna with the elegance in their form, the shape of their faces and eyes, and the slight point to their ears.
Was he looking upon a meeting of the gods?
How can it be they don’t see me?
The madness. That could be the only explanation.
Both men were dressed identically, simple brown cloaks made of some fabric he’d never before seen. It looked too smooth, too soft to be anything he’d known. One of them had dark hair, black as night, and the other had reddish hair, standing wildly and the color of fire. The same colors, the energy, surrounding Sharna surrounded each of the men.
“The great cities of the north are nearly empty,” Sharna said. “The mines deserted. All head south across the land bridge. The south cannot sustain that many people.”
The fire-haired man—likely god—nodded. “It is as you say Sharna day-Morin.” The words came flowing out, the name spoken in another tongue. He wondered how he understood what they were saying. “The north will be empty soon.”
As the man spoke, a finger of his energy, his aura, stretched out and touched that of Sharna. She made no movement away.
“What drives them south?” Sharna asked.
Her energy stretched fingers out to both of the men as she spoke, touching their auras before pulling away.
Both the men shook their heads slowly. Neither answered for a while. The quiet of the forest was almost too much.
“We do not know the nature of these creatures. We do not know what they are.” It was the dark-haired man that spoke now. “But Treval sen-Pornot speaks rightly. The north will soon be empty. The remaining cities cannot hold for long.”
Sharna nodded. “They cannot see what they are fighting, and we can do nothing?” The question seemed to be asking more than what it was.
“We must not interfere. Ours is a purpose much greater than that of mankind,” Treval said, answering the extra question Sharna implied.
The Lost Prophecy Boxset Page 21