The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  As he started toward the two lesser Deshmahne, they turned to face him. Each man remained covered by his dark robe, and each quickly let it fall away. Both were covered with tattoos, but not nearly as fully as the large Deshmahne. They moved quickly, taking up position on either side of him. Jakob spun his sword in a slow circle, getting a feel for it again and welcoming the weight. The bright edge reflected the fading firelight brightly, and both Deshmahne paused. It was the opening Jakob needed.

  He darted forward and pulled on the pulsing within him at the same time, feeling as everything seemed to slow. His sword moved quickly, flashing through catahs Jakob knew, blazing his own pattern in the night. The Deshmahne’s pause had been brief but enough. One of the men went down, a slash across his chest opening a bloody line in the tattoos. A second parry from Jakob took him across the neck in a spray of blood. He fell noisily to the ground.

  Jakob spun, meeting the blade of the other Deshmahne and saw a brief look of concern cross the man’s face. He moved in quick, efficient movements, holding Jakob in front of him as his sword flashed. Jakob struggled to keep up, feeling the blade as it whistled past his ear, only barely missing him.

  This was the Deshmahne who admitted to destroying the temple in New Chrysia.

  This was the Deshmahne who had killed his father.

  Jakob’s anger rose, and the throbbing in his head became something more.

  He heard a grunt behind him and a deep laugh. Brohmin was in trouble.

  Jakob pulled upon the pulsing again, letting it fill him, running through his arms and down to his feet. Time slowed again, and in a quick movement, he spun, taking the lesser Deshmahne’s head off as he did. A look of surprise was frozen on his severed head.

  Jakob ran to Brohmin. He and the Deshmahne moved in a furious parry of attacks, nearly too fast to make sense of where the sword stopped, and the metal rod started.

  The Deshmahne flicked a quick glance to Jakob, and his mouth moved into a tight line. Suddenly, the rod moved faster still, and Jakob sensed rather than saw how the man would move and brought his sword up to block a blow that would otherwise have taken Brohmin in the head.

  There was another flicker of eye movement toward Jakob, almost too quick to catch, and then a loud snap filled the night. Smoke and dust rose up from the ground in a dark cloud, and the Deshmahne was gone.

  Jakob looked around. There was no movement, and the flames of the fire quickly died, leaving everything in near shadows.

  “Is he gone?” Jakob asked, panting.

  Brohmin nodded. “He is.”

  “Where? How?”

  Brohmin shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “You hurt?” Jakob finally lowered his sword and felt the pains of the last few days nearly overwhelm him. His head hurt most of all, but his arms and legs were no better. Where the ropes had bound him, he felt a raw throbbing.

  Brohmin looked himself over before shaking his head. “Not enough to matter.” He glanced toward the fallen Deshmahne. “How?”

  “How what?”

  “How did you stop that last blow?”

  Jakob thought about it for a moment. Everything seemed fuzzy, cloudy. He’d sensed where the Deshmahne was going to move next and had moved to block. “Lucky, I guess.”

  Brohmin frowned before shaking his head. “Thanks. I owe you.”

  “No more than I owe you. How did you find me?”

  “I’ve been following you since you were captured. The Deshmahne leave little trail, but the raiders I could track. We were lucky in that, else you may have been lost.” He paused to catch his breath. “What did they want of you?”

  Jakob shook his head. “Nothing of me,” he answered though wondered if that was true. What was the strange ritual they had started? “They wanted the trunk.”

  Brohmin arched his brow at him and asked, “Where is it?”

  A sudden worry filled him. Had the large Deshmahne grabbed it before disappearing? He ran over to the horses and saw the two dead raiders. Ignoring them, he searched the animal but found nothing.

  Without the trunk, Endric’s mission was lost.

  “It’s lost,” he said. The weight of the words hit him with despair different from what the Deshmahne inflicted upon him.

  Brohmin kneeled by the fire, near where the lesser Deshmahne had been dancing before Jakob had killed them. “They don’t have it.” He dug in the dirt near the fire, then turned toward Jakob, holding up the trunk. “I think the ritual you were a part of was meant to open it,” Brohmin said as he brought it over, brushing off a layer of dust and dirt from the top of it. The clasp still gleamed as if freshly polished.

  Brohmin grasped his shoulder. “I know much has been lost for this trunk. That the Deshmahne would send him,” he nodded toward where the large Deshmahne had disappeared, “is proof of its importance. This must see its destination.”

  Jakob sheathed his sword, strapping it to his waist. They affixed the trunk to the saddle of one of the horses, and he and Brohmin mounted and rode quickly into the night. They rode a long time, quietly moving through the dark night until a dim light came into view. As they neared the light, they could see it was a small fire burning near a pile of rocks, with Salindra tending it.

  Brohmin led Jakob to an enormous clearing where a ring of trees formed a circle, the darkening sky once again visible. The change from the brown of the forest floor, covered in dead and dying leaves, to an open field of grass caught his eye. He was shocked at the suddenness of the change. Shocked by something else too.

  Around the clearing, immense trees held back the rest of the forest from entering. Within the clearing were scattered huge gray stones, some as tall as a man, the same color as his father’s stone ring he had found. Something about the area sparked a memory in him.

  He’d been to the area before.

  A dream. Only a dream.

  But the rocks had formed a circle then. Something about the arrangement had seemed important. It was where Sharna had been, and the two like her.

  Brohmin tore him from his thoughts. “We’ll rest here for the night. It is a safe place, hidden. Guarded.” He paused, looking over to Jakob. “It is a place with much history. We can rest peacefully tonight.” Salindra eyed Brohmin strangely from where she sat near the small fire, but he ignored her.

  Jakob looked around the clearing again. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he made a quick camp, falling into sleep. A thought came to him at the edge of sleep.

  Was his dream of this place a part of the madness?

  He’d thought himself safe, but maybe he wasn’t.

  Could I have read of this place?

  The answer didn’t come as he fell into sleep.

  Chapter Thirty

  Jakob opened his eyes slowly. He didn’t think he’d been asleep long. The slow pulsing, almost buzzing, had returned to his head. He wasn’t sure when it had left him, sometime during the ride back with Brohmin, but it had been gone before he had fallen asleep. With its return came another sensation, a soft pulling within his mind.

  He shook his throbbing head, but it didn’t clear.

  Somehow, he’d been moved while resting and now lay atop one of the rocks at the center of the clearing. Looking up at the sky, the colors shifted from orange to pink to black as the sun dropped lower. A few wispy clouds floated overhead, barely moving.

  Jakob propped himself up and looked about the clearing.

  Rocks that had been scattered haphazardly before he had lain down were now arranged in a circle. Each rock was different from the next; each had a shape he suspected had some meaning, and strangely, a part of him knew the meaning. Staring at the stones, he saw slightly different patterns about them, which if he thought long enough, he could understand.

  The tree line appeared different from what he remembered. They didn’t seem as tall as they had when they’d arrived, though he wondered if it was just the lighting. He watched the sky for a while longer, noticing stars as they blinked into existence, befor
e turning and looking at the forest. Something was different there as well. The trees weren’t as close as he remembered, their huge trunks seeming lessened in the night.

  Was that the light too?

  A shape made its way toward him, dark at first, and hard for him to make out. Tall and slender, he thought it to be Salindra until he saw the approaching person had very close-cropped hair. Something about the person tugged at a memory.

  He blinked, and suddenly, the world seemed to lighten. Everything around him became brighter, as if he were looking at it in daylight. It was an abrupt change, almost as if clicking over. He blinked several times to make sure he was seeing correctly, and there was no change.

  The figure was garbed more strangely than anyone he had ever seen. Breeches and shirt were swirling greens, and as Jakob continued to stare, it seemed the shapes of leaves and grasses came and went. They were clothes that would blend into the forest backdrop. Swirling energy surrounded the man, and he was reminded of the dream he had of the gods.

  He noted a hazy film he could nearly feel. Pale, nearly translucent, but it was there. He glanced down at himself and noted the same colored garb as the other wore and realized the same pale energy also surrounded him.

  Jakob looked up at the person, and he noticed something familiar. He’d seen the shape of the softly angular jaw before. Eyes were widely set, and there was a slight point to the ears. The features were natural yet different from any person he had ever known. The man had the beginnings of a beard, dark and closely shorn. He was younger, much younger than when he had seen him in his dreams.

  “Denmri sen-Kaleb.” Jakob didn’t know what prompted him to speak and didn’t know how he knew the other’s name. His voice was musical, enchanting, and fluid. “I hope the young night finds you well.”

  The words were not his own. He felt himself saying them, knew he spoke, but he didn’t choose the words. There was something else about his voice that was different. Something he couldn’t quite grasp. His speech felt strange on his tongue, almost foreign.

  The energy around him stretched out, touching Denmri before pulling back.

  Denmri nodded. “The night is young, but you grow old, my friend!”

  He laughed, knew the comment amusing, but was unsure why. The other man laughed with him. “Soon, Denmri, you, too, will feel the pull of years. Someday, you will sit where I do and lament over an age gone by, laughing while others call you old.” They laughed again.

  The words were more fluid, more musical, and more natural. Earthy somehow. How had he learned enough from Novan’s book to speak it?

  He spoke again. “Old I may be, but it is not yet your time.”

  Denmri flashed a quick smile. “May it not be for a long time, my friend.”

  Insects hummed all about, singing, and an occasional owl called in its attack. He could pick out the individual call from each creature if he tried. Strange scents filled the air; a heavy floral scent mixed with the sweetness of the damp earth. The smell was strong, yet not unpleasant nor completely unfamiliar.

  “Shoren, it is time to choose. We have found one to end the struggles, as you instructed.”

  Jakob didn’t know what the man spoke about, didn’t think he knew why Denmri called him Shoren. Strangely, a part of him did. Part of him knew what needed to be said. “I must see him.”

  Denmri nodded. “He is here. Chon om’Salii Jonah guided him to us.” Denmri paused a moment.

  It would be much easier if Chon could have been chosen, but that was not in the fibers. Denmri headed back toward the forest, blending with the trees as he reached them. He stared a long time at the night sky as he waited for the man’s return. Though Jakob’s sight made it seem daylight, he could still see stars.

  A part of him could recall nights long ago. Nights sitting in the same spot and staring into the sky. A sky not obstructed by the trees. A time before the forest was tall.

  How can I remember that?

  Another part of him knew the memories were there because he’d lived them. There was a certain sadness in knowing his best days were behind him.

  The sky was spotted with thousands of stars; he had known nights when there had been fewer stars. Though Jakob wondered how there could ever have been fewer stars, he somehow remembered those nights. That part of him knew he was old, could feel it in his bones and his joints, but his mind was still fresh. It was his mind that mattered now.

  Two figures came into view through the trees, followed by Denmri. The two others were shorter than Denmri, several hands shorter but more like people Jakob had known his whole life.

  Or is it Denmri who looks like those I’ve known my whole life?

  It was getting hard to remember.

  “Shoren sen-Alliss,” one of the men began. “The fibers have brought us together again.”

  A part of him understood what the man meant while another remained confused. Which part was really him?

  “Chon om’Salii Jonah. Your company has been missed. There are few of your kind we can truly speak openly with.” Again, the words he spoke felt true to him, but he didn’t know why he spoke them.

  “You honor me. Another time may we be allowed to speak more.” The man’s words rang with sincerity. “For now, I bring to you Aalleyn om’Lai Tompen. It is he who Marli day-Ohmsan chose.”

  Jakob looked to the other man, Aalleyn. Dark hair was styled long in the back, shorn close on top. The custom in his country, he knew. The man looked at him with a face of awe. His eyes almost glowed with emotion. He looked ready to drop at any moment to bow.

  The man’s reaction was somehow not unexpected.

  “Tell me Aalleyn Tompen,” he began, choosing to use the less formal of the man’s names. Jakob was unsure how he knew to do that, or how he knew it was less formal. “Tell me what you have seen.”

  The man looked to Chon uncomfortably, brown eyes searching for help. Chon offered none, as Jakob somehow knew he would not. The man needed to pass this step on his own.

  “Most High?” the man questioned. “I have seen much. What of it would you like me to share?”

  He knew it best not to correct the man for the title just yet, knew it best to leave his expectations and beliefs where they were. It would make things easier. “What have you seen of the war? It is a violent thing, this war. We have learned this lesson painfully.”

  He said the words knowingly, yet Jakob didn’t truly know what he spoke about.

  But... he did know. The memories were there, faint but growing stronger. It was he they fought over, he remembered. He and his people. A sad price was paid.

  The man turned his head, looking to Chon again before turning back to Jakob.

  Or is it Shoren?

  Who am I?

  Both names seemed to fit. He could remember times as both. Could remember years with Novan as Jakob, remembered the journey from the city as Jakob, and remembered the repeated attacks by the Deshmahne.

  Who am I?

  He remembered his first meeting with Chon’s kind as Shoren, remembered the bloody war he helped stop as Shoren, and remembered deciding to choose one of Chon’s kind to stop the fighting as Shoren.

  Who am I?

  “The war?” Aalleyn asked. “I was in Rehne when they attacked. I was in command of the city when they moved out of the west and broke our walls. We had no reports of their troops in the west. We had no reports of any of their troops in any of the north. We still do not know how they became so strong.” The words were soft, spoken sadly.

  A battle lost, Shoren knew.

  I am Jakob!

  It was good that the man knew pain, good that the man knew the cost. It would help in his training.

  What training?

  “We’ve disappointed you,” Aalleyn said.

  Shoren knew the man’s fears, knew where they came from, but knew there was no truth to them.

  What fears? Jakob wondered.

  Who am I?

  I am both.

  The thought drifted
from the back of his mind but rang true.

  “The Unbelievers took one city from us. I know you’ve brought me here in your anger. I accept your punishment.” Aalleyn hung his head in shame. Thick hair curled around his neck. “I deserve whatever you decide.”

  Denmri smirked briefly. Chon joined him. Both were quick to hide their amusement. A smile didn’t come to Jakob’s face, though. The war was fought over him and his kind—a war of clashing beliefs, faiths. Useless destruction. It must stop.

  Too much had been lost. It was time to stop it.

  He chose his words carefully. The subject was a delicate one. “The situation is not as you think it to be. We are not what you believe us to be.” He spoke softly, a movement of his hands including Denmri in the statement.

  Aalleyn’s eyes widened. “You are the gods! You are everything I believe you to be.”

  Shoren shook his head. “Not gods, my friend,” he said soothingly. “We are an extension of the Maker, serving and protecting that which was made.” An arm stretched out, pointing around him. “We are nothing more.”

  What he told Aalleyn went against everything the poor man believed.

  What do I believe? Jakob was no longer sure.

  “Then, why am I here?” Aalleyn asked quietly, his voice quavered.

  “This war is fought because of your beliefs. Because of your faith.” Shoren stared sternly at Aalleyn, and the man shrank away. “War destroys that which was made, weakening the Maker.” He paused, knowing his explanation was lacking but not having time to fill in the gaps. “It weakens my kind.”

  Aalleyn stared at him, a blank expression painted to his face.

  Does he understand?

  Do I?

  “This war, and all wars, grant strength to that which would tear apart what was made.” The words hung heavy in the night air. “Is this something you understand, Aalleyn?”

  The man nodded carefully, but repeated, “Why am I here?”

  Shoren stared for long moments. “You are here because you have a special path set before you. This path carries with it the end of the war.” He waited, giving Aalleyn time to digest the words. It was a difficult dish to swallow. “You have been chosen because you can bring an end to this struggle, this bloodshed. You have been chosen because you can unite the people.”