The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  “You shouldn't keep staring up at the clouds.”

  Roelle turned to see Lendra approaching. She was an interesting woman, and had trained with Novan in the south before he had made his move toward Chrysia. She was the student who had studied with him prior to his working with Jakob, the man who still occasionally occupied her thoughts, despite being away from him for as long as she had. Whenever she practiced with her sword, she found her thoughts going to him, thinking of how skilled he had been, and thinking of…

  Roelle sighed and shook away those thoughts. “Not in the clouds, just contemplating.”

  Lendra laughed softly. “You don't have to explain yourself. I think most of us understand that what we do is potentially dangerous.”

  “You might be the only one who feels that way, Lendra. I don't think most understand what we’re getting into. The gods know that I'm not even sure I understand what we’re getting in to.”

  Lendra tipped her head to the side, and ran her hand through blonde hair that was so similar to Selton. His cousin shared a similar angular jaw and the same deep blue eyes. Roelle understood why so many of the men looked at Lendra the way they did, the same way women often looked at Selton. Both were strikingly beautiful.

  “There are rumors. Even in the south, I heard the rumors. I think most did. Even with those rumors, I don't think anyone understands the dangers.”

  “We didn't hear them in Vasha. The first I heard of rumors out of the north was when I traveled south with Endric. And I began to realize there was something else taking place.”

  “Was that when you were attacked by the Deshmahne?”

  Roelle nodded slowly. Had rumors of the attack spread so far that even Lendra would have heard? It was bad enough what she had been forced to do, bad enough that she struggled with what it meant for her. She was Magi. She was Urmahne. She was supposed to protect the peace; she was not supposed to be a soldier, and definitely not a warrior. But that was what she had become that day.

  “Endric believes that what we face in the north is worse than the Deshmahne.”

  “We don't really know what we face. Rumors,” Lendra said.

  “Antrilii. That's what we search for. For some reason, they will have the answers to our rumors,” Selton said as he rejoined them.

  Lendra smiled at her cousin. “Is that all you think this is about? Do you think we come to see the horse warriors?”

  Selton frowned. “What else would it be? Isn't that why Endric sent us to the north? There’s something they know that will help us understand.” He shrugged as he studied Roelle. “Whatever it is, at least we’re getting out of the city. I think everyone is excited about that.” The sound of the clacking came louder as others of the Magi joined in practice. He grinned as she turned her attention to it, and tapped her on the arm. “Working with them might clear your mind.”

  “I doubt that,” she said.

  “At least watch. I know how much you enjoy watching a skilled swordsman.”

  Roelle flushed and turned away from Selton before starting toward the sectioned-off area between four tents, a small square where the young Magi could work and practice with swords or staff. In some ways, it was much like what Endric had set up each night as he'd given everyone the chance to work with him. She had taken that opportunity every night, and had developed her skills. The others had practiced with the Denraen, but few—other than Jakob—had practiced as often as she had with Endric. That time had given her an advantage in skill the others didn’t yet share.

  Wasn’t it her responsibility to help them now? She owed it to those with her to help them develop, much like Endric had helped her develop. Wasn't that what the old general had taught her?

  Selton and Lendra followed her to the practice area. All of them watched as two of the Magi, Matthew, and Donovan, worked. Both were skilled with the sword, attacking and moving through catahs in ways that some of the seasoned Denraen would've struggled against. There was fluidity to Magi movements Roelle never saw when she watched men practice. Considering the Magi need for peace, why had the gods gifted them with this skill?

  The men finished, Matthew getting the upper hand, and then stepped apart. The trio of other Magi watching from the sideline clapped in appreciation as the two men rejoined them.

  “See?” Selton asked. “I knew you’d enjoy watching.”

  Roelle elbowed him. “I don’t see you out there.”

  He tipped his head toward the clearing. “I was waiting for you.”

  Selton outmuscled her, but she was quicker, and she had worked with Endric far more than Selton had. Practicing might clear her head. Unlike the others, she hadn’t taken the time to practice since leaving the city. There had always been something to check on in the camp. Maybe her friend was right.

  She offered a half-smile. “Are you really certain you want to do this?”

  “If you're afraid…”

  “I just don't want to embarrass you in front of your cousin.”

  Selton laughed. “I don't think you want your new friend to see how badly you get beat.”

  Roelle headed into the center of the practice area and grabbed one of the wooden practice staves. It had a smooth handle and was weighted to resemble a sword, though wasn't anything like the sword Endric had given her. The blunt sides still hurt when they struck flesh. Roelle had developed plenty of bruises when she'd practiced with Endric during their travels. Plenty even when she'd practiced with Jakob.

  Selton grabbed a practice stave and joined her.

  She stepped into her ready stance. Selton mirrored her. With a nod, they began.

  The forms came easily to her. She sank into an emptiness within her mind, trained by Endric to find it, and opened herself to her Magi abilities, but made a point of not using them. In some way, that felt like more of a violation of the gods’ gift than simply taking advantage of her innate physical prowess. She tried not to think about how she had been forced to use those abilities when she had faced the Deshmahne. Better to practice and develop her skill pretending she didn't have those abilities.

  She darted forward, using a technique Endric had taught her, going through the full movement as she did before dancing back. She struck Selton three times in the single catah. He managed to block two others, but she was quicker than he was.

  Selton grinned and attempted an attack.

  Roelle noted the movements, recognizing the form he used, and blocked. She lunged forward and attacked again, this time using the same catah she had the last. It was the way Endric had taught her.

  Selton's face screwed up in tight concentration. He managed to block an extra attack but still was struck twice.

  Roelle stepped back and waited. This time, Selton attacked with the same form she had just demonstrated. She smiled, moving through the blocks, demonstrating the defense as Endric had demonstrated to her.

  A look of understanding crossed Selton's face.

  They continued through the movements, Roelle continuing to demonstrate techniques Selton didn't know. After a while, long enough that the sun had descended below the horizon leaving them with only the light of the campfire, Selton lowered his practice stave and rubbed his arms where she’d struck him.

  “I think I've had enough for tonight.”

  She laughed softly as she replaced the practice stave. “See? I told you that you didn't want to get embarrassed in front of your cousin.”

  Selton looked around. Nearly twenty of the Magi watched. Roelle hadn't realized so many had come to see them practice. “You might not be the only one who enjoys watching a skilled swordsman,” he said with a smile. “And I think you're going to have to deal with more than me.”

  The Magi were laughing; some of them were making jokes. All seemed to be enjoying watching Selton get beaten by the much smaller Roelle.

  Selton started away and another of the Magi, a young woman by the name of Cara, took up a stave and joined Roelle.

  She shook her head as she approached. “I don't thi
nk I'll give you quite as much of a challenge as Selton, but I want to learn.”

  Roelle nodded, but was unable to shake the sense that they relied on her to learn, as she had relied on Endric.

  It didn't seem a fair trade.

  Chapter Two

  Jakob opened his eyes slowly. The sun was high overhead and nearly blinding. It was warmer too. It had been growing cold in the mountains, and overcast, and he seemed to remember his cloak offering little protection as it was whipped by the wind.

  Where am I?

  His head throbbed, the steady pulsing he vaguely remembered still there in the back of his mind. Had something happened?

  They had been fighting, facing the creatures—groeliin, he remembered now—and now they were here. How? And where were the Deshmahne priests? They’d been following them, had nearly reached them. If he and the others waited too long, the Deshmahne would reach them... but, as he looked around him, he could tell that they were no longer in the mountains. Maybe there was no longer the same threat of the Deshmahne.

  Trees towered behind him, taller than any he had ever seen. His first thought was that he was back in the Great Forest, but something was different. The color of the leaves was greener than he remembered. Fruit hung from a few branches, though it was not the season. Reds and oranges like nothing he had ever seen adorned the branches; there were even some purple fruits hanging from a few trees. All were high above him, too high to reach.

  The sounds of the forest were different too; it was not just the colors that seemed strange to him. Birds cawed with unusual voices, and insects chirped at a different pitch. The smells were evocative, fresh, and filled his nose with thousands of aromas—too many for his mind to sort through. And though foreign, he found them strangely comforting.

  Forcing himself up, he saw that he had been lying in a huge grassy clearing, just at the edge of the forest. Stands of colorful flowers interrupted the green field at times, almost artfully, as if painted on. The flowers were enormous and their colors incredibly vibrant. Everything around him seemed more vivid.

  The waist-high grass all around him seemed to move differently than he would expect, and not from the gentle breeze brushing lightly across his face. The grasses swayed with a life all their own. A strange, translucent haze stretched out across the plain, and it was this that moved the grass, slowly and in swishing waves. He could almost feel its pull. He touched a few of the blades, finding the edges rounded and velvety.

  A little area had been trampled down and cleared. There was an outline of where his body had lain, pressing down upon the long grass while he slept. Two other similar shapes were present—Brohmin and Salindra he suspected—though neither of them was in sight. He worried about that for a moment, but it passed, leaving him with a sense of peace.

  Jakob felt at ease. There was no way for him to explain it other than that. Amid the grasses, he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. There was no need to worry about Brohmin or Salindra. He could sit and wait, and let the warm sun touch his skin, leaving it practically tingling. As he sat, the soft grass surrounded him, covering him. He adjusted his sword, and was comforted with the knowledge that it still rested at his side.

  After a time, he could almost feel the soft swaying motion of the grass. A few ants found his arms, and he shook them loose; they were an irritation that interrupted his relaxation. Taking a deep breath, tasting the crispness of the air, he knew he could rest in this place a long time. And he should.

  He let himself drift with the slow sway of the grass. It mingled with the low pulsing in his head, and after a while, it seemed as if he were moving with it. Side to side. Not with the ebb and tide of the breeze, rather with his own rhythm and that of the grass. When he closed his eyes, he could still almost see the haze covering the grass, but now he was beneath it and its force worked at him.

  He let it take him. Let it move him. And he drifted.

  He wasn’t sure how long he had lain there when he heard his name.

  It came from a distance, from another place. Pulled toward the voice, Jakob felt dragged from his rest. He opened his eyes slowly, fearing this place of calm had been only a dream.

  “Jakob!”

  Jakob sat up, propping himself up on his elbows before looking around. Brohmin stood near the edge of the circle of grasses, searching for something.

  “Over here,” he answered.

  Brohmin turned to him quickly, and rushed over to him.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Brohmin sighed softly. “I couldn’t find you.”

  Jakob smiled. “I was just relaxing and enjoying the beautiful day.”

  Brohmin stared at him oddly for a moment before replying. “This grass has a way of hiding things in it.”

  He could believe that. All he wanted to do was lie back down and relax again, but Brohmin motioned him to follow.

  When they reached the place where he’d first woken, he found Salindra waiting, the same anxiety on her face as Brohmin’s. “What is it?” he asked.

  She frowned. “We’ve been looking for you for—”

  Brohmin cut her off with a slight shake of his head. “Sit,” he instructed. “Are you hungry?” Brohmin offered him a stack of rolled up leaves.

  He took the food Brohmin offered, but his stomach moaned for more than greens. It ached for one of the hares Brohmin was so adept at catching. He chewed at the leaf and found it sweet, though the texture was strange, and like nothing he had anticipated.

  “Not what you thought it would be?” Brohmin laughed.

  “No. It was… wonderful.”

  “Try this.”

  Jakob took a fruit with bright orange streaked with red, similar to what he had seen high above in the trees, and his gaze drifted upward.

  Brohmin pulled another from his leather pack and bit into it. “I didn’t climb, if that’s what you were thinking. These fruits will fall when they are ready. They aren’t ripe until they fall.” Brohmin looked at the tree line again. “If I could pull one from the branches, it would be poison to us.”

  Jakob slowly bit into the fruit he held. It was much like an apple, though sweeter. Its rind was soft, somewhat chewy, and silken to his tongue. He took a bigger bite and devoured it quickly. It was delicious.

  He was still hungry when he finished, and felt like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. “No hare this time?” he asked Brohmin.

  “Not in this place. You won’t taste the flesh of animal often here.”

  Salindra scooted closer to him, studying him as he ate. “How do you feel?”

  He shrugged. “Fine, I suppose. How am I supposed to feel?”

  She laughed. Jakob hadn’t heard the Mage laugh before. “You’ve been out for two days now.”

  Two days? He remembered the pull of the grass, could still see it if he looked, and knew that he could rest here a long time. Could I have slept two days?

  He did feel refreshed. “Why would I have slept so long?”

  Brohmin and Salindra glanced at each other. “How’s your shoulder?” Brohmin asked, nodding toward his right shoulder.

  He remembered the wound he’d sustained and fingered the skin under his shirt, finding it tender.

  What had happened to him?

  He remembered the spear. Remembered breaking it off from his shoulder. He could almost still feel the pain that had pulled at him, almost bringing him to his knees. But there was no scar now, only a little tenderness. Nothing like he would have expected.

  “How is it gone?” He shouldn’t have been able to heal as quickly as he had… unless Salindra had healed him, but he didn’t think that likely. There was something wrong with her, though he didn’t know what. Had Brohmin healed him?

  “Answers will come,” Brohmin said.

  Salindra reached for his shoulder. When he started pulling away from her, she patted his leg and whispered, “Shh.” She reached carefully under his shirt and gently felt for his wound. She looked up quickly, catching his eyes, before tu
rning to Brohmin. “The wound is gone. It was still healing when we left to gather the fruits.”

  “Gone?” Brohmin asked.

  Salindra nodded, feeling again under his shirt.

  Brohmin glanced toward the trees, then at the grassy plain, forcing Jakob to look around and vocalize the question that had plagued him since awakening. “Where are we?”

  “Avaneam,” Brohmin said. “At least, where it leads. It’s a special place. One few know.”

  “We were in the mountains.”

  “In Avaneam, one step takes you to the mountain peak, the other…”

  Jakob looked around at the strange surroundings. Trees and fruits and grass unlike anything he had ever seen or heard about surrounded him.

  He suddenly realized where they were.

  “The Unknown Lands?” he asked.

  Brohmin nodded.

  “How is this possible?” So many had tried to reach these lands but none had ever managed to cross the Great Valley. Stories were told of the attempts, stories he had read, like those of Jarren Gildeun, and others. How had he managed?

  “Avaneam is a special place,” Brohmin repeated.

  Jakob reached his hand under his shirt again, slowly fingering the tender area, remembering the pain of the spear. He sat like that for a while—his hand under his shirt and his eyes locked down on the ground. A light haze clung to the ground, and he swayed with it.

  Memories came back to him slowly. He could almost feel the cool of the mountain air, the sting of the rock as it sliced his hands climbing, and the black fog as it rolled toward them…

  “How were the groeliin beaten?” he asked. The word flowed off his tongue, effortlessly. He stopped a moment, thinking a little more. “Last I can remember, they were coming toward us and…” The answer wouldn’t come. There was more to it, but he found his memory full of holes.