“Lady Elisia—my gratitude for your welcome.”
Short and to the point with no flowery words, no excessive dialogue, no subtle flatteries. When electing to speak, a Simathe selected his words with care. His point was always made in the least amount of time, and with the fewest words.
The lady turned quickly, as if relieved to have done with the duty of conversing with him. Now she and the Moonkind Tredsday, Master Risean, greeted each other in courtly Aerisian fashion, the High Elder waiting patiently until they had finished before rising to his feet.
“Pronconcil Elisia, you have returned alone. The lady Artan and Moonkind Rittean, where are they?”
All eyes were upon her. The Spinner smiled to mitigate their fears.
“My fellow lord and ladies of Council and, of course, our esteemed Moonkind advisor, Master Risean…” She turned that smile on him. “The lady Artan is fatigued by the day’s events, and asks that she be excused from attending Council. She is hopeful that, following a night’s rest, she will be better able to fulfill her obligations on the morrow. Moonkind Rittean has escorted her back to her chambers. May I send word that you approve her request?”
The situation was highly irregular. Nevertheless, due consideration must be given to the fact that it was the Artan who’d made the entreaty. Leave was given, and the Spinner dispatched a servant to the Artan’s chambers with a message of permission and further instruction concerning the lady’s needs.
The Artan.
Something cold raced through the warrior’s veins at her name. When Moonkind Risean had arrived at his stronghold bearing tidings that the legendary, long-prophesied figure had been discovered and brought from Earth, the Simathe High-Chief had felt a pang akin to joy, or hope. Perhaps both. After all these long years…could it be that Aerisia’s deliverer had finally come, and during his reign?
Any concealed joy was swiftly tempered by the old Moonkind’s next statement. Despite what some had predicted, that she would arrive fully equipped in every way to oppose the Powers of Darkness, the Artan was young, inexperienced, and untried. She doubted Master Risean’s word, she doubted herself, she doubted her destiny. And until she discovered her gifts, she would be in grave danger from The Evil. Because of that, she was in need of costly, permanent, unique protection. Protection of the sort none but a Simathe could give. A Joining.
Hearing those words, the High-Chief had heard also their underlying implication. Requested to attend Council, he had complied, knowing full well that he would be asked whether or not he—one of lesser station would hardly suffice to safeguard the Artan—was willing to undergo Joining with her.
What could he say?
He was not merely a Simathe: he was the Simathe High-Chief, their highest lord and most skillful warrior, chosen to lead by his Simathe brethren. He was also Pronconcil, had been for decades, despite rare attendance at Council meetings. As such, he’d a duty toward his homeland. He must serve Aerisia as best he could. If that duty required him to Join with this girl, to become her chosen protector, her Simathe—then he would do it. It was for Aerisia. What sacrifice would he not make, had he not made, for the welfare of the realm?
It wasn’t that he feared the Artan or the Joining and what it entailed. A Simathe knew little fear and displayed even less. To make outward displays of any variety went against their particular creed. Burying deep not only fear but any other emotions they might possess, Simathe warriors presented to the world faces nothing less than perfectly calm at all times, in every situation. For this reason, many Aerisians believed them incapable of feeling anything at all. Most did not consider them fully human.
Never mind that he and his clan had defended and safeguarded Aerisia for thousands of years. Never mind that they always would. Despite their work on Aerisia’s behalf, as long as there had been Simathe, there’d also been fear and mistrust. Nothing was said outright, but everyone knew it and everyone felt it. The subject was one whispered about between close friends, in dark houses and shadowy alleyways, in confidential conversations, even among Council members.
No one truly befriended a Simathe. Because of their capabilities, they were tolerated and nothing more. Except feared, perhaps. “A necessary evil,” all agreed, nodding their heads wisely. Necessary—yet no one attempted to breach the centuries-old barriers of mistrust and apprehension.
Thus it had always been. Thus it would always be.
In his heart, the warrior-lord harbored no foolish misapprehensions. Countless years had taught him many harsh realities about humanity, and he expected this woman from another world to treat him no differently than his fellow Aerisians did, the Artan or not. Doubtless, she would shun him as much as possible. In her eyes, he would read the thinly disguised trepidation at his approach; in her voice, he’d hear the tremor when she addressed him. She would not be unlike the rest of Aerisia. How could she be?
Like as not, they’d filled her head already with colorful, erroneous misconceptions of himself and his warriors. Like as not, this was the real reason behind her rudeness in refusing Council’s summons, albeit none dared say so. She was, after all, the Artan. The people’s hope. Their world’s future. But she was, quite clearly, also quite human. And she would not, could not, overlook the things that set him and his fellow warriors apart.
As he considered these things, the High-Chief furtively clenched his bare fingers into a tight fist. Nothing could be helped or changed. What was to be must be, and he resolved to harry himself no further. Come what may, he would do what he must. He was Simathe, he was the High-Chief, and he would serve his homeland by serving his Artan.
And if she hated him for it, then she did.
So be it.
Attack!
A servant had come and gone, giving me her name, Rosean Wis’ Dellmi, along with the assurance that she would see to my needs. The first thing I requested was a bath and something to sleep in. When these were brought, my new Moonkind friend followed the pretty servant girl out the door, bidding me a “Good night’s rest,” as she exited.
I waited until the echo of their footsteps had faded before dashing over to try the door. I pulled and shoved. I pushed and tugged. I even tried, “Open up,” and “Open sesame,” although, needless to say, neither phrase had any effect. I couldn’t remember the strange sounding word Rittean had used earlier and had the feeling that, even if I could remember it, this door was fixed against my getting out unaided.
“Crap,” I muttered, slumping in defeat. “Yeah, I’d like something,” I grumbled to myself, pushing away from the door. “I’d like a way to open my bedroom door so I’m not a prisoner in my own room. I’d like to call home. I’d like my own bed to sleep in. I’d like…I want my mom.”
My throat closed off, and breathing became difficult. I wrapped my arms around myself as tears pricked my eyes.
Had it really been earlier today that I’d been reassuring Sammie about dinner with her future in-laws, laughing at my little sister, and then reminding George to play it nice when guests arrived? It felt like a million years ago. How had all of that—family, normalcy—turned into this?
Okay, stop the pity party, I chided myself. Can’t be a baby now. You’re an adult, remember? Worry about home later. Right now, just go with the flow. You’ll figure something out.
Still frustrated, I undressed and climbed into the tub, easing down until the water came up to my chin. Steamy warmth surrounded me, soothing me with the fragrance of jasmine and lavender. Inhaling, closing my eyes, I willed myself to relax, feeling aggravation slip away as the hot water soothed my tense muscles and strained nerves.
As I began to unwind, the confusion clouding my mind since I’d first sighted the stranger in Mr. Cutter’s field slowly melted. Maybe it was a false sense of security. Maybe it was pure exhaustion, but sleep stole in, taking its place. Resting my head against the rim of the tub, I surrendered to the fatigue…
I must’ve dozed off. I don’t remember for sure, but I know I must have because I s
uddenly snapped awake. My eyes flew open and I bolted upright, water sloshing around my body. My chest was heaving. I couldn’t get enough air! What was happening, was I dying? Having a heart attack? A stroke? My mind screamed that I was suffocating, that I should call for help. I tried, but my vocal cords remained silent—I couldn’t scream, couldn’t squeak, couldn’t…
Then, like the rush of water through an opened floodgate, air came, flooding my lungs with life. Greedily, I sucked in one breath, then two, then three. With the onslaught of fresh oxygen, panic receded and self-discipline returned. I will not freak out, I told myself sternly, even as chills raced up and down my spine. Pressing both fists against my eyes, I forced myself to calm down. My head throbbed and my heart pounded, yet I continued to draw long, methodical breaths. I don’t know how long I sat there recovering, trying to figure out what’d happened in the first place, before it happened again.
Strangely enough, I felt no terror or panic. Something stirred in my blood: a cold, slimy sensation like a snake slithering through my veins. I went rigid, sat motionless and waited. Once more my breathing shortened, but this time it didn’t stop entirely. First it was merely that creepy, crawly feeling, then came the whisper of a presence—the knowledge that someone, something else was there, inside my head. My fists dropped from my eyes and I grabbed the sides of the tub in a death grip.
“Artan?” a male voice whispered. A slight pause, then, “Artan? My lady Artan?”
I wrenched about to look behind me, my arms folding automatically over my chest. My eyes darted wildly about the room. “Hello? Wh—who’s there?” I demanded. But no one was! Apart from myself, the room was empty.
“Artan, Artan…” the whispery voice sing-songed.
Suddenly, my bathwater went frigid. I started to shake with cold. All I could think was, This is not happening to me. After all I’d gone through today, this could not be happening on top of it.
“Artan? My lady Artan?”
Would it never stop, leave me alone?
“Artan?”
The voice dropped in pitch, becoming an intimate murmur that sent chills down my spine. “Artan…my beautiful lady…hear me…”
Slowly, painfully, I raised my head. “I hear you,” I replied weakly. “Who are you? Wh—what do you want?” My voice trembled as badly as my body.
What’s happening to me?
Something warned me that this voice—whoever, whatever it belonged to—was what had invaded my sleep, driving me into a panicked awakening. I could practically smell the evil in the air.
“I am called Jonase,” drawled the voice, speaking slowly as if savoring the taste of each word. “I serve…One with great power. Come to me. Come to my Master, to us. You cannot help them.”
“Cannot—help who?”
“Any of them. The Elders, the Pronconcil, the people of Aerisia. Soon, soon they will know their helplessness, for I will make them to know it. I will show them my might, my power. Soon I will show them—”
“Show them what?” I urged timidly.
The voice only laughed, low and mocking. “It is of no consequence. You, too, will learn in time unless you come with me now.”
Come with him now? Where was he? Who was he? What was he?
“Will you? Will you come, my lady? Resist and you will perish. Join us, and we will be great!”
As the voice rose in volume, the odor of decay filled the room. Its stench seeped into my nostrils, my very soul, making me gag. Revulsion shook my body. I didn’t want this, didn’t like it at all. I wanted to fight, wanted to resist. This voice, this thing, was evil. I didn’t have to see it to know that. Fear seized my heart, but at the same time something deep within rose up in defiance. Courage spread through my limbs, thawing my heart, freeing me from a prison of ice. Gritting my teeth against the pressure inside my skull, I climbed to my feet, standing in icy bathwater up to my knees.
“I don’t know who or what you are,” I managed to force out, my fingers knotting into fists. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about, or what you really want. But I know this: I know you’re foul and evil. No, I won’t go with you and I won’t serve you. I won’t have anything to do with you, or your master, whoever that is. I want you to go away and leave me alone!”
“Fool!” jeered the creature in my head, shooting electric flashes through my brain. “You are a fool. We are power, we are might, and we will conquer. Nothing can stand against us, including you and your pitiful allies. Resist, and you shall die. You shall all die!
As he screeched the last words, violent tremors seized my body. The reek of decomposing flesh was so strong I couldn’t breathe. Gagging, choking on putrid air, I felt my knees buckle. With a loud splash, I toppled helplessly into the water.
The thing in my head screamed, a crazy, wordless cry of hatred and rage. White-hot flame erupted, searing my bones. The scream filling my being, within and without, I pressed my palms to my ears, writhing in agony. Convulsions rocked my frame. A sudden, horrid jerk snapped my head back. Paralyzed, stunned, it took me a long moment to realize the scream had ended and the thing was gone. When my mind registered the fact that I was now alone, a scream of my own tore from my throat.
Lurching to my feet, I stumbled out of the tub and over to the bed, where a thick robe had been laid out beside an embroidered nightgown. Sobbing hysterically, I struggled to slip on the robe, battling my fingers to get the belt fastened.
Unable to stop screaming, I ran to the door. I was hysterical, unable to think of anything except escape. I pounded on the oak with both fists as hard as I could, shouting, “Let me out, let me out, let me out!”
Thankfully, it wasn’t long before footsteps were pounding down the hallway. The heavy door crashed open, and a swarm of people came rushing in. Sobbing, I fell into Rittean’s arms, powerless to speak as she gripped me tight.
“Quickly, Rosean, fetch Council, and don’t return without the Ranetron and Simathe High-Chiefs,” I heard the Moonkind say. “Make haste—fly, girl, fly!”
The servant dashed out to do as bidden, while Rittean led me to the bed and eased me down onto the mattress.
Council had been dismissed. A few Elders were preparing to leave when a young serving maid came flying down the steps leading to the Council Chamber. At the sound of her approach, every head swiveled to see who dared invade their privacy in so reckless a manner.
She dropped to one knee, forcing out a message amid gasps. “Moonkind Rittean sent me. Council must…must come at once. The Artan—she’s been attacked!”
Instantly, both the Simathe and Ranetron High-Chiefs were on their feet. Weapons ready, they darted up the lengthy staircase and out the door, their fellow Council members left to follow as best they could. With Lord Garett leading the way, they dashed down the hall and swung into the small chamber where the Artan was being kept. As he entered, the Simathe’s black eyes flitted about the chamber, absorbing all there was to see with a single sweep. No outward signs of danger were visible, but he saw Moonkind Rittean sitting upon the bed, clasping a dark-haired young woman in her arms.
The Ranetron High-Chief turned to him. “Stay with the lady. My men and I will secure the palace and grounds.”
The Simathe lord nodded. “Go.”
As the High-Chief vanished, the Elders arrived. Standing in nervous clusters about the open door, they whispered together, anxious over the distraught Artan. Sheathing his sword, the Simathe lord approached the bed.
“Moonkind Rittean, can you calm her? I must know what happened.”
The blue-eyed girl nodded gamely. “Aye, my lord. I shall try.”
Simathe
In the midst of my hysteria, I heard footsteps rushing about and voices swirling meaningless words. Uncaring, I clung to my new friend, her strength and solidity my only grips on reality. It took time for anything else to penetrate my senses, but I eventually became aware of how her hand stroked my wet hair while she chanted soft, soothing words. Though I didn’t understand their m
eaning, the gentle cadence helped soothe my nerves and quiet my sobs.
When I’d calmed a bit, my friend urged me upright. A hand holding a glass appeared, blurry through tears.
“Here, my lady,” offered Lady’s Elisia’s voice. “Drink this.”
Accepting the proffered glass, I drank. One sip, however, and my stomach rebelled. I leapt from the bed, grabbing the edges of my robe to hold it together. The glass fell from my hand, shattering on the marble floor as I ran for the chamber pot hidden behind a curtain in the corner of the room. Even as I dropped to my knees, nausea struck with blinding force. Clutching the sides of the pot, I lost the contents of my stomach.
Vaguely, I heard Rittean dispatch Rosean on an errand, although what she said I couldn’t make out. Someone else stooped beside me, gathering my hair, pulling it back from my face as I vomited. Not until my stomach had completely emptied itself did the heaving stop and the queasiness slowly subside.
Another person knelt nearby. “The water and cloth, my lady,” she said.
“Give them to me.”
The voice by my ear was deep, masculine, and one I’d never heard before. Slowly I raised my pounding head, careful to avoid sudden movements. Large, calloused fingers captured my chin, turning it gently.
“Permit me, my lady.”
That same hand released my chin and began cleaning my face with a cold, wet cloth.
I strained to open my eyes, seeking the helpful stranger. His head was slightly bent, so I couldn’t see all of his face. His frame, however, dwarfed mine, even though he crouched next to me on his heels. I couldn’t see his eyes or mouth, yet his hands were comforting and sure as they wiped my face and held back my hair. Finished, he lowered the cloth, and finally lifted his face. Our eyes met. I heard my involuntary gasp, felt my face blanch, and was instantly ashamed when I saw his eyes flicker and his jaw harden.
The Sunset Lands Beyond (The Complete Series, Books 1-3): An epic portal fantasy boxed set Page 6