George’s sandy eyebrows lifted. “You better get back in time to clean up before dinner. Sammie will not be happy if you show up dressed like that.” His nod swept over my jeans, t-shirt, and Nikes. I didn’t think I looked that bad, but he was right: Sammie probably would want me to change before company arrived.
“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “You better get in there and shower before Dad gets home. He’ll be here any minute, and he’s going to need to shower too.”
“Yes, ma’am!” My brother executed a smart salute. “See you at dinner, then.”
“Yeah, see you,” I replied, and hurried off with a little wave.
I knew I was cutting it close—going for a walk with only an hour left till show time, and me still needing to change. However, what time I hadn’t spent the past couple of days following Sammie’s orders, I had spent cramming for an exam that was coming up the day after tomorrow. My brain was full, I was more than a little stressed by both the pressure and my sister’s drama, and I needed a break.
I’ll keep it short, and get back in plenty of time, I promised myself. Sammie will be so busy with her hair and makeup she won’t even notice I’m gone. Nobody will…
Down the dusty country road I hurried. My Nikes kicked up puffs of soil that swirled around my feet. Running my hand idly over my neighbor’s fence, I discovered its sun-warmed planks still retained the heat of the day. Behind the barrier, several long-limbed thoroughbreds ambled about, seeking the best grazing spots. Their curried coats gleamed in the early evening light, their shadows stretching long over new grass. Despite the hectic pace of the past several hours, I felt my nerves quieting under the serenity of the country scene.
Until I saw him.
At first glance, I thought he was the leftover stump of a huge tree that had once towered over our neighbor’s pasture. The tree was long gone, however; only its enormous stump remained to mark its passing. The story went that a couple of decades ago a lightning bolt falling from a clear, blue sky had struck the tree, felling it instantly.
“Strangest thing I ever saw,” Mr. Cutter, our crotchety old neighbor, had once remarked to my father. “Wasn’t a cloud in the sky. That thing just came outta nowhere. Tree didn’t stand a chance. Nothing was left but that stump. Since it was too big to dig up, I cut up the tree for firewood and left the rest. Been there ever since.”
Now, all dark and knobby, the old stump crouched behind the same fence that guarded our neighbor’s horses, set back about thirty feet from the road. While jogging past on a twilight evening, I’d sometimes catch a glimpse of it from the corner of my eye, and my overactive imagination would flash desperate signals that something was there: a bear, a wolf, a stray dog, a monk in flowing robes. For a split-second I’d panic—then common sense would kick in. Inevitably, I’d realize it was nothing more than that stupid stump fooling me again.
Since this had happened more than once, I actually didn’t panic when I first glimpsed the stranger. Didn’t, that is, until I took a second look and the apparition didn’t vanish. His flowing, coffee-brown robes didn’t dissolve into bark and knobs; his white hair and beard weren’t fading sunlight glistening on old wood.
What on earth?
I was so shocked I stopped dead in my tracks.
Who is that? What is that?
Was I deranged to think I saw an old man leaning against a wizard’s staff, the wind toying with his white hair and beard?
Staffs like that don’t even exist! I told myself.
The wood was blue—not painted blue, but…blue. The top of the staff was carved into a life-sized hand, its palm up and its fingers curved around a small, gleaming object. I strained to make out what it was.
A moon?
Yes, the object resembled a miniature moon, one shining as brightly as its real counterpart, its luminescence shimmering in the vanishing light of day. Marring its glowing surface were replications of the dark smudges that mark the mountain ranges and dry riverbeds of earth’s moon.
Who is this, and why does he have a staff with a teeny moon on top?
Was he an escapee from a traveling Renaissance Faire? Maybe he was on his way to one of those superhero/fantasy/comic book conventions and got lost, winding up here? Was he into some sort of odd role playing? Was he dangerous? Senile? Playing a joke? How could I tell? What should I do?
Run, came the immediate mental response. Maybe not my bravest course of action, but this person clearly was not normal and had no business being here, lost or escapee aside. I figured it was time to get the heck out of Dodge before he noticed me standing there. Then again, this would mean bypassing him, which he could hardly fail to notice. Did that mean I should go back the other way, try to find help? Or should I be brave, after all—play the Good Samaritan, call out to him, ask him what on earth he was doing in my neighbor’s pasture? Or, as a last resort, should I stroll on by as if I hadn’t noticed him at all?
My mind whirled, but I think my decision was already made. If the stranger hadn’t seen me yet, maybe he wouldn’t until I was too far down the road for him to do anything about it. Unless he was actually an Olympic runner beneath those bulky robes (not likely), I doubted he’d be able to catch me. Those long robes, not to mention climbing the fence, would have to slow him down.
For better or for worse, my choice was made: I would try slipping past and sprinting for the house. Tensing, I gathered myself for the fast dash back home. Unfortunately, at the exact instant I was ready to bolt, a sly mountain wind rushed down the hillside, through treetops, and across grassy fields. It caught me, tugging at my clothing and sweeping out my hair in a long swirl of brown. Catching sight of that sweep of hair, the stranger’s head whipped about. Suddenly, he was staring straight at me.
I felt a cold, sinking sensation, like the bottom had dropped out of my stomach. For a moment, I was mesmerized by unimaginable blue-green eyes: eyes that pierced my soul, eyes that summoned, eyes that beckoned. Beneath their gaze, part of me wilted, but the other part of me fought back.
Don’t just stand there. Run, you idiot! screamed the fighter inside, and I obeyed. Putting on a burst of speed I was off, racing for home and safety.
Visitor from Lands Beyond
I didn’t make it very far. Over the pounding of my own feet, a noise from behind snagged my attention, forcing me to turn my head. That was my undoing, because what I saw was so shocking my feet quit on me and I came to an abrupt standstill.
The old man stood in the same spot as before, but now his head was tilted back and his hands stretched upward, holding his staff over his head. His dark robes swirled in that same mischievous wind, and from his staff’s moonlike jewel leapt a blast of white which struck the ground, casting up a fountain of soil and stone. With dizzying speed, it climbed in circles that started at the stranger’s feet and rose rapidly. Faster and faster it went, shining so fiercely I could no longer see the old man—only the light encompassing him. It looked as if the moon itself had come down to rest on my neighbor’s field.
With a hoarse cry, the old man suddenly lowered his staff and thrust it into the earth, burying it halfway up the shaft. His hands were locked about it, his hoary hair blowing straight back from his head. His eyes blazed a wild, pale fury. Then he looked at me. Even from a distance, his weird eyes burned. I saw his lips move, heard him shout in a strange, foreign language.
“Reynon ciellyan kie!” he cried, and I knew he was talking to me, calling me. I felt as if I’d tumbled into a deep hole, or that something strong and terrible had seized me in an unbreakable clasp. Of their own volition, my feet were walking, carrying me toward him. I moved like a person in a trance, unaware of who I was or what I did. My eyes were melded with his. My chest rose and fell with his breath.
Still in a haze, I reached the fence and climbed over. The spell shuffled my feet onward until I stood scant feet from my tormenter. Only then did the fierce gleam in his eyes glisten brighter and then, with a snap! wink out. Released from his power, my limbs
were soft as heated butter and I crumpled to the ground, panting for air.
The old man did not move but allowed me to lay there, my cheek in the grass, recovering. But if he did not move, something else did. First I heard a loud pounding. Then the earth was quivering beneath me, making me lift my head like a startled deer. I gasped to see my neighbor’s thoroughbreds thundering toward us, returning from whatever corner of the pasture they’d fled to when their habitat was invaded.
Now, approaching at a gallop, they slid to abrupt halts, forming a tight ring of living, breathing flesh around the stranger and myself. Prancing, shuffling anxiously, blowing softly through their noses, they appeared to be anticipating some sort of orders. A short breath escaped the stranger’s lips, a whispered word along with it. The animals obeyed. As one, they dipped their heads reverently, and in the next heartbeat were down before him on one knee.
They’re kneeling to him! Kneeling!
What was going on here? Had I gone insane? Could I possibly be dreaming? Maybe I’d tripped and fallen, striking my head on a rock. Maybe I was lying unconscious on the road, bleeding, my mind wandering in a dreamland of its own making.
The old man left me no time to decide. With another command in his weird language, he bid the horses to rise. They obeyed. Their backs straight, their necks arched, their proud heads lifted high, they were as beautifully poised as any trained, showroom animals.
All of this I absorbed while lying prone on the ground. Only my head was raised. My eyes were riveted on the horses when I felt a soft touch on the top of my head. I glanced up sharply. Stooping, the stranger had rested his wrinkled hand lightly on my hair. The frightening fury that had held me helpless moments ago was gone from his eyes. They were no longer terrifying, but were the most incredible blue—the inviting, blue-green shade of warm tropical waters. Soft wrinkles webbed the corners of those eyes, expanding into a map of fine ripples that crossed his entire face.
The color of his hair was not the normal white of dotage. Rather, it was a brilliant white, a very pure white, as dazzling as sunshine on snow. Its glow may’ve been somewhat harsh, but the hair itself looked so soft, so touchable that I found myself fighting a ridiculous urge to reach out and stroke it.
His tropical water eyes smiling at me, he said quietly, “Cla’mentay, ni nokestrin. Rise, my daughter, rise.”
From somewhere came the strength to comply. Whether from myself or this stranger, I couldn’t say, but I stood. Despite his imposing presence, when I was standing next to him I realized he wasn’t very tall. Myself, I was a few inches over five feet in height, and our eyes were practically on the same level.
He grinned at me. The gesture swelled from the smile already in his eyes until it radiated from his entire face. In his smile, I sensed no malice. Instead, surprisingly, I found myself relaxing. A reciprocal expression, if somewhat strained, tipped up the corners of my mouth.
“I am Risean Wy’ Curlm,” he began, offering a low bow from the waist. “I am Tredsday—you would, perhaps, say Guardian—of my people, the Moonkind.”
His voice was moderate, low pitched, and pleasing. “Peace to you, my lady,” he continued. “I bring you greetings from Aerisia.”
“A—Aerisia?” I stuttered. It was a strange word, pronounced something like Air—ree—shuh.
“Aye, Aerisia. I fear it is a land of which you have not heard?”
I nodded.
“Ah,” he replied, smiling still. “It is a wondrous land of great beauty. One in which you will take great delight, I am sure.”
“Take great delight?” I echoed, uncomprehending.
Suddenly, all vestiges of the kindly grandfather were dropped. Replacing them was abject seriousness, and the mien of somebody with a serious purpose.
“I pray you, my lady, to forgive this aged man his unexpected appearance. Forgive, as well, the abrupt manner in which I now address you. Yet what I am about to say is of the greatest importance to you, to myself, and to many others. Listen closely; heed well what I tell you.”
Taken aback by this about-face, I nervously edged backward. The mysterious stranger was not put off.
“My child,” he stated kindly yet firmly, lifting a hand that begged me not to flee. “There is no other way to say this. You are not the person you believe you are. You are no insignificant maiden, but a woman destined for true greatness and the liberating of an entire world.”
“What? I’m not who I’ve always thought I was? What do you mean? What are you talking about?”
“You,” he answered softly, those eyes piercing my soul, “are the embodiment of legend, the fulfillment of prophecy. You, Hannah Winters from Earth, are the Artan.”
“The Artan?” I looked at him askance. I’d never heard of this person, but I knew for a fact I wasn’t her.
“Aye, the Artan. It is an old name, derived from an ancient tongue. Its meaning I cannot presently reveal. For now, it must suffice that you know you are she, the Artan. That this is who you are, and what you must do.”
“What?” I cried, throwing my hands up in the air. “Who is this Artan person, and what do you mean this is who I am and what I must do? What do I have to do?”
“You must become her,” he answered calmly, “the Artan. The rescuer, the deliverer of Aerisia, the wellspring of hope in a time of darkness.”
My jaw dropped, and I gaped at him. Gaped. Obviously, this poor old man was delusional.
“Look,” I said, speaking as kindly as possible given the outrageous circumstances, “I have no idea what you mean, or what you’re even talking about. But really, sir, you’re mistaken. You have to be. There’s no such place as Aerisia, and I don’t believe you came from there. Things like that don’t happen in real life. Furthermore, even if they did, I certainly wouldn’t have anything to do with it. I’m no heroine! I’m just…Hannah, the most common person you could ever hope to find. I’m nobody special. I’m just a college student…just…”
When I couldn’t think of anything further to persuade him, my speech trailed off into awkward silence. Throughout it all, Risean Wy’ Curlm (what kind of name was that, anyway?) had remained serene, undisturbed by my outburst.
“Calm yourself, my child,” he said gently. “Time is necessary for you to believe my words. Soon enough, you will find your allegations of impossibilities forgotten.”
“They are not allegations,” I shot back. “I don’t believe any of this. You’re either a dream, or a weird old man who’s really good at magic tricks!”
To my surprise, Risean Wy’ Curlm found this hilarious. Throwing his head back, he laughed merrily. Even the horses shook their glossy manes as if they shared the old man’s humor.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I don’t think this is funny.”
“Ah, forgive an old man, my dear,” he soothed. “You are quite right, I should not have laughed. It is only that you, your world, your manner of speaking, your bluntness…they are so far removed from that to which I’m accustomed. I was quite taken aback. But I am delighted, truly delighted.”
Well, I wasn’t delighted. Nevertheless, with those eyes twinkling at me, even I couldn’t stay mad forever. In spite of myself, I felt my irritation slipping away. However, even as my tension melted, seriousness returned to the self-confessed Moonkind. Closing his eyes, he paused to gather his thoughts. When he reopened them, his gaze was fixed on a distant point over my shoulder. The setting sun?
“Ni nokestrin,” he began gravely, “I am sure you know the meaning of the word faith. Because you cannot see a thing does not preclude its existence. Because your ears have never heard of a land doesn’t mean its inhabitants do not live and breathe.” His focus swung back to me. “And because people in your world see you as common does not mean they should be believed. They may be blind to you, but I assure you our eyes are open. We see you as she who possesses the power to save our land—who must save our land.
“We need you,” he concluded humbly, “and we beg you to have faith in yourself. In
us.”
I didn’t know what to say. Despite the poor thing’s bizarre fantasies, he seemed so sincere—so nice, in a strange sort of way. Sighing, I shoved loose strands of hair behind my ear, wishing I could convince him to give up this craziness. What else could I try? I was fresh out of ideas.
At the sound of my sigh, Risean Wy’ Curlm raised his bowed head. “Forgive me,” he said, “but whether you believe me at present matters not. Conviction will come eventually. For now, time grows short and we must be away.
“Come.” He lifted a hand, beckoning. “Come, my child. Do not be afraid.”
But I was afraid. Something warned me this was no game. I knew I should run, but the best I could manage was a stumbling step backward. It wasn’t enough. Seeing I wasn’t planning to comply, old man locked both hands around the staff, which had stood like a barrier between us this whole time.
“Cla’mentay,” he commanded, and the staff began to rise, pushing itself out of the ground. His expression stern, he leveled its jeweled top at my torso. “Bid farewell to all that you know here. I am sorry to force your separation from Earth in this fashion, but I assure you it is necessary.”
What did he mean, departure and bid farewell? Was he going to kill me? Could I have misjudged him that badly? I glanced around wildly for help. Where was Dad? Any minute now, he should be driving past on his way home. If only he’d show up and put a stop to this craziness! I didn’t hear his car, though, and didn’t spot any other means of escape. Mr. Cutter’s horses still penned us in a tight circle. I didn’t think I could shove past them; should I drop, try to scuttle between their legs?
“Lady Hannah!” he said fiercely. Had he read my mind? “You must do as I say.”
“Look, sir,” I stammered, willing to plead. “I really have to go now. My family will be looking for me, so if you’ll make the horses let me go by, I’ll leave, okay? I won’t tell anyone about this. It can be our secret. Please, just let me go!”
Smiling sadly, he shook his head. “Impossible. Plainly, you do not understand. Truly, my child, I am sorry for this.”
The Sunset Lands Beyond (The Complete Series, Books 1-3): An epic portal fantasy boxed set Page 2