“You aren’t mad, Jakob. Everyone dreams.”
He looked over to Brohmin. The man’s gray hair and gray-black eyes attempted comfort. He shook his head in response. “Not dreams like those. Not dreams where you speak the ancient language.”
Brohmin eyed him a moment. “True enough. But we were in a place of power. Many people have strange experiences there.”
His was no mere strange experience. “I dreamed I was a god, Brohmin!” His voice rose a little as he spoke. Salindra looked back briefly, cocking an eyebrow before turning her attention back to the path.
Brohmin chuckled again. “And no ordinary god, either. A god among gods. You spoke the name Shoren.”
The word flowed from Brohmin’s lips, as if familiar. He wondered what else of the ancient language Brohmin understood.
Shoren.
That had been his name. The memories Shoren possessed had been his memories, if only during the dream. He could still remember what Shoren knew, what he wanted, if only he closed his eyes and let his mind go back to that night.
“When you spoke the name Shoren...” Brohmin looked at him carefully. He felt the weight of the gaze. “It’s a name I recognized. Not many would, but I did.”
Jakob would soon know the extent of his madness. That was what Brohmin was about to share with him.
“You’re from Chrysia?” Brohmin’s voice suddenly took on a different tone, one that reminded Jakob of Novan when he lectured.
He nodded.
“Chrysia is in Thealon. In the capital city of Thealon is the Tower. The Urmahne speak of the Tower of the Gods as the house of the gods. And quite possibly, they’re right. Who’s to know for certain?”
They rode in silence for a bit before Brohmin finally continued. “Thealon was once known by another name. It’s a name long forgotten, one from before the destruction. Little is known about the time before then. Most of the histories have been lost, only fragments found. Some remain. A city mentioned many times was the city Shoren Aimeilen.” Again, the words flowed comfortably from his tongue. “A city ancient texts refer to as a powerful city. Powerful with the strength and proximity of the gods.”
Jakob startled when he heard the name. A thought floated through his mind, something he remembered.
Aimeilen was beautiful too.
He shook it off, hoping Brohmin didn’t notice.
How do I know this?
The madness. It was the only explanation.
“It can be none other than Thealon of today. Of what was destroyed during the destruction, no damage ever came to the Tower. A powerful place.” The statement seemed almost to himself. Brohmin stared off as his tone had become almost one of reverence near the end.
They rode on for a time before he continued. The trees were spaced less closely together here, and it was easier for the horses to move more quickly.
“Some fragments speak of a powerful being living in the city of Shoren Aimeilen. One known only as Shoren.” The words were quiet, and Jakob suspected Brohmin did not share this knowledge with many. “It is said he lived in the Tower.”
“But the gods had no names!”
“Do you believe that, or do you think we just don’t know them?”
Jakob sat quietly for a while. “But if he was known as Shoren, that could only mean...”
Brohmin nodded.
“Was he more powerful than the other gods?” Jakob asked.
A shake of the head was Brohmin’s first reply. “We know little of the time before the destruction or of the gods. That which remains is kept by the Magi,” Brohmin said. The stiffness of Salindra’s spine let on that she listened. “It’s often difficult to read these fragments that remain. The language is mostly lost.”
Salindra looked back at him then. “How is it you know of this?”
Brohmin smiled broadly, yet there was an undercurrent of irritation in his expression. “How is it that you do not?”
She shook her head. “There are sections of the library restricted to the Council.”
“And they have used what they’ve learned so wisely.”
His last words hung in the air as they continued in silence, the sound of the horses’ hooves along the forest floor the only noise breaking the quiet. After a while, a thought came to Jakob.
“For Shoren to have the city named after him?” he asked, his voice sounding loud as he broke the silence.
“A god among gods,” came Brohmin’s reply.
A god among gods?
What did this mean for him?
If Shoren was real, did that mean the rest of the dream was real? How is it he had dreamed of him? No answers came, only more questions and one worried him more than the others.
Had his other dreams been real?
The rest of the day went slowly for Jakob. Brohmin rode off several more times, and each time, he returned to spur them on more quickly. The sun seemed to take forever to reach its midday peak, and then even longer as it made its way back down behind them. The three rode in silence much of the time, a few terse words spoken as they stopped for lunch.
The stop was brief. Brohmin seemed more and more concerned as they rode. How close were the Deshmahne now? Brohmin didn’t offer, but his terseness provided enough of an answer.
As the day grew longer, Brohmin slowed his horse to ride next to Jakob. It was a welcome distraction from the steadiness of the green and brown that surrounded them, the underlying buzz in the forest, of the birds singing and the insects chirping.
“We should reach the town of Fristin tonight,” Brohmin said. “Those who follow are now several hours back.” His voice was a hushed whisper, and the ever-waning afternoon light cast strange shadows about his face. It made his eyes even more hollow and aged. “We may find rest indoors tonight, but it will likely be the last for a while.”
Jakob nodded and let the silence return.
Brohmin continued to ride by his side. “Tell me about your blade,” Brohmin said, catching him off guard.
“It was my great-father’s,” he started, opting to share the truth. “It’s been passed through my family for years; my father only gave it to me a few weeks before I started this whole journey.”
“Surely you held steel before then.”
“My brother was one of the Ur. He used to teach me before...”
“Before what?” Brohmin urged.
Best to tell them now if he was showing signs. “The madness took him.”
Brohmin frowned. “You spoke of madness before. Explain.”
“I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
How could he explain the madness? Did he tell him what happened to Scottan? Should he explain what was happening to him?
Salindra saved him from having to answer. “The madness has little explanation. I’ve seen it myself, seen how it strikes, taking men and women in their prime, rendering them shells of themselves. It’s like an illness, taking vitality, strength, and sanity. We’ve not discovered much more of it.”
“I haven’t heard of this. How long has this plague been spreading?” he asked.
“I first saw it years ago,” Salindra answered, “but it’s said to have always been around.”
Brohmin frowned again but said nothing at first. Finally, he turned back to Jakob. “You learned the sword from your brother?” Jakob nodded. “And then you met Endric?”
“When the Magi came to the city with the Denraen, I met Endric in the practice yard one afternoon. I didn’t know he was the Denraen general, only that he’d work with me.”
“I’m not surprised that he did.” He gave Jakob a thoughtful, yet perplexed look. “You’ve learned from your brother and from Endric, but how can it be that you wield a sword better than any man I have seen in years?”
“I... I can’t explain it.” He’d never been skilled with the sword before working with Endric. “Endric always had something new to show me, and so I was always learning new catahs, understanding how to move, how to think.�
�
“I’m sure. Even he must have commented on your quick mastery.”
Jakob was uncertain what to say.
“Tell me about you blade,” Brohmin asked again. “I have never seen its like.”
“I don’t know much about it, only that it’ s an old sword. There are letters scrawled upon it, letters I think Novan could read.” He decided not to describe the shapes upon the hilt. He was not even sure if he could describe them.
Brohmin stared at him, probably waiting for an invitation to look at it. Finally, he said, “May I see it?”
As Jakob pulled it from the scabbard, his arm tingled, racing up into his skull and the slow ever-present pulsing hummed louder. With it, the colors around him were brighter, and the sounds of the forest were louder. He held on to the pulsing as he passed the sword to Brohmin. The edge that seemed to pull light away from the sky made it seem incredibly dark. The other side blazed brilliantly in contrast. Did the others see what he saw?
Brohmin’s eyes slid carefully up and down the length of the blade, scanning one side and then the other, before moving up along the hilt and pommel. He looked intently at the pommel for long moments before looking up. “Neamiin.” He spoke the word fluidly, familiarly.
How much does Brohmin know?
How much did he understand from Jakob’s dream?
“A fitting name.” He looked at the sword again. “There is more here, but I suppose you have already learned of that,” he said, looking up at Jakob.
He hadn’t, but he nodded just the same.
“And something else,” he started, looking back down and squeezing the leather wrappings of the hilt with one hand. “Shapes of some kind beneath.” He handed the sword back to Jakob, catching his eye.
Jakob took it gently and sheathed it, holding on to the tingling as he did so.
“There’s more to you than I thought.” Then, almost to himself, Brohmin said, “More than I had been told.” The words were barely audible, so Jakob was not even sure he heard him correctly.
Brohmin fell silent, and after a while, moved his horse forward again to ride with Salindra. Jakob didn’t listen, choosing instead to watch the forest move around him. He became aware of the constant itch in the back of his mind and let his eyes dart around, but it was a half-hearted effort. Jakob had never seen anything. If it was the madness, there was nothing he could do about it now.
The green and brown of the forest began to blur past them, the forest thinning as they rode north and the trees grew more stunted. Small bushes now dotted the landscape as a path opened up before them. Jakob watched the sun fall behind the horizon, taking the rest of the daylight as it did. As the sky darkened, the sounds of the forest changed. Once, he heard the low howl of an animal far in the distance. He didn’t recognize the sound.
Was that a merahl?
Brohmin had been quiet, pushing them hard. The sky overhead was nearly dark when he called back to Jakob. “Another hour ride or so.”
The horses seemed to sense their urgency; their tired bodies pushed their limits and ran even faster. With the faded light, Jakob found himself entrusting more and more to the vision of his horse and the direction of Brohmin. He could only just make out the two ahead of him, and that was with the slow pulsing in his head. Would he see anything without it?
There was a thin sliver of moon tonight, and stars occasionally peeked through the cloudy sky, but otherwise, it was dark. There was a moistness to the air, thick with the scent of fall and the threat of a coming storm. The constant feeling of being watched grew worse, and Jakob slowly became tenser. His horse must have felt it as well; he jumped every so often as a strange sound in the woods startled him. Jakob struggled to stay steady in the saddle.
Unexpectedly, he began to make out the shapes of houses and other small buildings as they approached a wall circling a town. Low, about waist-high, he suspected the wall was more for peace of mind than for defense.
Fristin. But why were there no lights in the windows?
With the thought, he heard Brohmin call out, “Hold!”
It was a rough whisper, not loud enough to be heard in the small village. He moved his horse nearer to Salindra as Brohmin rode ahead. They sat quietly, waiting, staring off into the darkness of the village. The sounds of the night stretched on, unaware of their presence. Jakob resisted the urge compelling him to look around, knowing he’d see nothing. Salindra’s hands trembled slightly as they clutched the reins, and a small bead of perspiration glimmered in the pale light of the moon upon her face.
Why would a Mage be nervous?
He glanced around, wondering how far back the Deshmahne were now. The small wall was not imposing and would not slow them. Would they continue their pursuit into the night? Through the night?
A shape rode toward them, and Jakob’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword until he could see Brohmin as he signaled them to follow. Jakob kicked his horse forward. Salindra paused a few moments before falling in behind.
They circled around the low wall until reaching a hard-packed path on the northwest edge leading into the town. They rode through the entrance and moved quickly along the road, not stopping until they reached the center of town. A large, single-story building blocked passage further along the road.
“We will stay in town tonight,” Brohmin said in a hushed whisper.
“Here?” Salindra asked.
Brohmin nodded a reply and climbed down from his saddle. Jakob followed, grabbing the trunk from the back of the saddle. As he did, he tried to keep his movements quiet. Something about Brohmin’s mood called for caution.
“In the hall?” Salindra questioned further.
Another nod from Brohmin. He looked up at her and said, “The town is empty. The entirety of the town.” Salindra’s eyes widened slightly. “Some didn’t bother to take anything with them.”
Salindra shook her head. “This far south, Brohmin? That can’t be!” Her tone was anxious, and her voice struggled to remain quiet.
What would make the Mage nervous? Worse, what would make Brohmin nervous?
The Elasiin path is dangerous, he remembered.
“Perhaps they will slow the Deshmahne,” Brohmin said. His tone made it clear he didn’t think it likely.
“What is this? Why is this town empty?” Jakob whispered.
Salindra looked expectantly to Brohmin who shook his head. “Go inside.” Brohmin took hold of the reins of Jakob’s horse and motioned him inside the building. “We won’t light a fire, but wait for me in the main hall in front of the fireplace. I’ll stable the horses.”
Salindra nodded and grabbed Jakob’s elbow, guiding him toward the door. Heavy oaken doors opened softly, and they stepped carefully into the hall. Salindra pulled the doors mostly closed behind them, leaving one cracked. Light from the moon filtered in, barely enough to see by, and they stood just inside the doorway as their eyes adjusted.
After a time, Jakob could make out a few features of the room. They stood in a large chamber that seemed to take up most of the building. Maybe a meeting chamber for the town. He could make out some dark doorways along the walls, made all the darker with the contrast of the night. In the back of the main room was the fireplace Brohmin mentioned, and Jakob started to make his way toward it. Salindra lit a candle, providing a small amount of light. It was not much, but more than enough to make his steps a little more surefooted.
He reached the fireplace, a light lining of soot covering everything within except for the few well-placed logs that had not been lit. A light layer of dust covered them. Jakob stared into it, part of him longing to light the heavy logs, welcoming the heat they would bring.
“What is this, Salindra?” Jakob whispered.
She shook her head. “I hope you don’t come to know.”
Jakob stared through the darkness, trying and failing to make out her expression. “What happened here?”
There was a long pause before she answered. “They left. To Rondalin and safety.”
Rondalin. Jakob had seen the makeshift buildings outside the city walls, more people than he could imagine cramped together. That was safety? He’d run through the crowded streets, but what could send a whole town away?
Another thought interrupted the last: How many towns were there like this?
He couldn’t imagine. What would do this? What would cause these people to leave their homes for some strange city? What was along the Elasiin path?
Brohmin came in not much later. He stepped lightly through the room until he reached them, puffing out the candle as he did. “No light.” His face was stern, almost angry as he crossed the room.
Salindra nodded and didn’t argue.
Jakob stood still, his muscles stiff with tension, unsure what was around him, until Brohmin tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Get some sleep. This is a safer place than the woods,” the man whispered in his ear. It was barely audible.
He nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but felt a hand cup over his face.
“Safer than the woods,” he heard barely whispered again.
Lying down, pangs of worry and fear began to eat at him. Dust from the floor plumed up as he lay down, tickling his nose and making him think he might sneeze. What was Brohmin keeping from him? This was more than the Deshmahne. He wasn’t sure how he was going to sleep this night, though his muscles ached, and he was exhausted from it.
Slowly, a heavy presence came over him. His nerves, he supposed. He was tense but couldn’t exactly pinpoint the source. Jakob tried taking deep breaths to relax, but couldn’t. His breathing was hard, loud in the quiet of the night. So loud, it would keep him awake if he couldn’t calm his breathing. It would be a long, tense night if he couldn’t sleep.
Sleep did come, albeit fitful. Strange and vivid dreams floated just at the edge of his consciousness. Once, he awoke to strange sounds outside the hall, close enough to have been from within the town. At first, he had thought them only his dream, just another part of the strange hallucinations he’d been having at night, but realized he was awake. The heavy feeling was worse this time, almost a squeezing tightness in his chest. Jakob struggled to breathe and relax. It was not easy.
The Lost Prophecy Boxset Page 34