About the Author
Don’t believe all the hype. Sarah Ashwood isn’t really a gladiator, a Highlander, a fencer, a skilled horsewoman, an archer, a magic wielder, or a martial arts expert. That’s only in her mind. In real life, she’s a genuine Okie from Muskogee, who grew up in the wooded hills outside the oldest town in Oklahoma and holds a B.A. in English from American Military University. She now lives (mostly) quietly at home with her husband and four children, where she tries to sneak in a daily run or workout to save her sanity and keep her mind fresh for her next story.
For a complete list of all Sarah’s works and the links to find them, visit her website at www.sarahashwoodauthor.com.
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Books In The Sunset Lands Beyond Trilogy
Aerisia: Land Beyond the Sunset
Aerisia: Gateway to the Underworld
Aerisia: Field of Battle
Available now!
Works by Sarah Ashwood
The Sunset Lands Beyond Trilogy
Aerisia: Land Beyond the Sunset
Aerisia: Gateway to the Underworld
Aerisia: Field of Battle
Beyond the Sunset Lands
(A companion series to the Sunset Lands Beyond trilogy)
Aerisian Refrain (now available)
Aerisian Waning (forthcoming)
Aerisian Nightfall (forthcoming)
Aerisian Dawn (forthcoming)
Stones of Fire
Ashes on the Earth
Down into the Pit
Fire from the Midst
Repairer of the Breach
Standalones
Knight’s Rebirth
Novellas
Amana
Short Works
“The Hero of Emoh” in the Hall of Heroes anthology
“The Princess and the Stone-Picker” in the Tales of Ever After anthology
“Lost” in the Like a Woman anthology
Aerisia: Gateway to the Underworld
Copyright © 2020 by Sarah Ashwood
Editing by Red Adept Editing Services
Formatting by Polgarus Studio and Vellum
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Excepting brief review quotes, this book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the copyright holder. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, real events, locations, or organizations is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Prophecy of the Artan
She is of our world and beyond. From another place, another time, she will come. She carries the burden of tomorrow, and her true essence will be birthed with the moon and the dawn. The Singing Stones once more will sing, and she shall unite those long hated with those who long have feared them. Unity with the everlasting will heal her soul, lifting the eternal from rejection and fear. She will be untouched by man and untainted by The Evil. In her will be met all the Powers of Good, and with them shall she defeat The Evil. The Dark Powers she shall overcome by becoming, yet not. Bound to the past, the bond will be broken that she may pass through the vales of shadow and despair to walk forevermore in the light. Wars may rage, kingdoms rise and fall, and monarchs topple, but the Artan will defend her people. Aerisia by her strength will be kept, and in her time peace will prosper.
Prologue
The shadows swirling about It veiled the eyes and clouded the senses, but nothing could hide the fact that It was forsaken. Black with the blackness of death, It abode in the shadowed recesses of Its vast hall, buried deep in a massive cavern that stretched for miles.
This was a place forgotten by most and secreted from any who might remember. The lighting was poor, the temperature cold. However, there was a purpose in using this place. Aside from the wild ones, whose lands It inhabited, and those of Its servants whom It most trusted, It managed to dwell here unseen while seeing all. Or nearly all.
The reek of death filled the air. Bits of corpses, strewn across the stone floor, rotted in various stages of decay. One yellowed, twisted, bare foot rested upon the freshly severed head of Its latest victim—the latest who had dared defy Its supreme will. Long toenails, coiled into talons, dug into the thatch of red-blonde hair matted with blood.
“It succeeded not, O Great One.”
The servant approached on his belly like a snake, his head bowed to the earth. He dared not risk looking into that face. A single look from his Master’s eyes was death. The merest glance—and skin melted away, flesh blasted from the bones as if by fire and strong wind. There were none, save his Master Itself, who knew even so small a thing as the color of his Master’s eyes; for those who saw Its eyes knew that secret for only a few fleeting moments. And in the grave there is no remembrance or telling.
“Of course it did not succeed,” the deep voice rasped. “Jonase was a fool! I allow him to inhabit a human body, and what does he do but let his lust lead him into being slain by the accursed immortals?”
“Bu—but, Great One,” the servant stuttered, “ha—had he succeeded, our worries would have been over.”
“Do you think me ignorant of this, you fool?”
Roaring in rage, It leapt upright, the weight of Its massive form smashing the head beneath Its foot. Livid, It stalked to within inches of Its thoroughly frightened slave, oblivious to the trail of gory footprints defacing the gray flooring. The slender, trembling man dug his nails into the unforgiving stone on which he genuflected. Every instinct warned him to flee, but greater dread of his Master restrained him.
“I shielded Jonase from the Simathe, even as they have somehow shielded that woman from me! I… nay, we,” It corrected Itself, “knew nothing of her whereabouts until she approached the cottage—a simpleton, aye, fully as much as the rest of you.”
Stooping, It retrieved a huge slab of broken stone, only to rise and hurl the piece through the air. The stone crashed against one of the many thick pillars supporting the vaulted roof and shattered, sending bits and pieces of crushed stone showering down upon the petrified servant. He screamed, throwing trembling arms over his head.
“And they think,” his Master snarled, either unmindful or uncaring of Its subordinate’s terror, “she will one day possess the power to defeat me. Me! A weak, cringing girl, protected by no more than the strength of a Simathe’s arm!”
It glared contemptuously at the man quivering on the floor.
“One of them must have Joined with her, something the Simathe have shunned for years beyond number. Only by Joining could they have hidden her presence at Treygon. But no longer. Nay, no longer,” It breathed. “Despite Jonase’s failure, his attempt told me what I desired to know. Now I am aware of where she is and how she is safeguarded—within Treygon’s hallowed halls.”
It spat the last two words, as if their taste was bitter. Then, Its manner changed swiftly, unexpectedly, from violence to rumination.
“Treygon…” It murmured. “So that’s how the game’s to be played, is it? Warriors and fortresses. Swords, spears, and mountains. Nevertheless, I can strike a blow for which all are unprepared. Even Treygon has its weaknesses…”
“M—master?” the shrinking servant finally spoke up, his voice shaking as badly as his body. “Th—the Simathe. They a—are immor…immortal and ca—cannot be…be defea—”
“Do you take me for the bloody fool that you assuredly are?”
Wrath sluiced over the cringing slave, making him wish he’d never dared to speak.
“I am well aware that the Simathe are immortal and cannot be defeated, you worthless dung heap! Not in their own stronghold, of all places. Perhaps the fortress itself is invulnerable, but any defense is only as strong as its smallest weakness. And soon, soon…”
The storm of Its fury having once mor
e played out, the creature turned, regressing toward Its gleaming, mammoth throne, fashioned from the polished bones of Its enemies. It sank into the chair, tracing a toe thoughtfully through the bloody paste—all that remained of the smashed skull.
“The Doinum,” It muttered thoughtfully, so low Its groveling listener strained to hear. “The Doinum… send for the Doinum, Gont. I would speak with their leader.”
“As my Great One wishes.”
As rapidly as possible, the slave, Gont, sidled backward from the room, paying scant heed to the litter of human flesh strewn about. Once out of sight of his Master, he got to his feet and ran, hastening to accomplish the Great One’s demands.
He was never so cheerful to quit a place as he was to depart these audiences with his master. Speeding down dank, shadowy corridors, he passed creatures unimaginable in form and being, but he paid them no mind. Like himself, these creatures had long ago chosen shadow or fallen prey to the One who led them all. These creatures did not frighten Gont; within, he was as vile as they. He did not look twice as he passed them by. Yet, in some smothered corner of his soul, he wished he might find the courage to flee and never go back.
Part One
Command and Become
A Shell
A week after Jonase’s attack, Lord Ilgard, High-Chief of the Simathe, sought out the fairy Aureeyah. He found her on one of Treygon’s upper balconies, elevated high above the ground. Her gentle glow melded with the moon’s, and her exquisite face was serene. Her outward demeanor betrayed no knowledge of the struggle they faced, although he knew she must be aware of it.
“Lady Aureeyah?”
“Lord Ilgard?” She spoke without turning. “Come, join me. The night is beautiful.”
Was it? In all reality, the night’s beauty was lost on him. The tall warrior went to stand beside the fairy, wordless as he gathered both thoughts and purpose. In the end, she spoke first, making the tactful inquiry, “You wish to speak of her, my lord?”
He stifled the urge to scowl. The case must be serious indeed if the fairy was able to read his intent that easily.
“Aye, of her.”
“She did not dine with us this evening.”
“No, she did not.”
Silence fell. This time, it was the Simathe who broke it. Looking hard at the fairy, he said, “It has been a week. Seven days, and still she will not leave her chamber. I sense only numbness and chill in her—very little life.”
“I know.”
“What are we to do?”
“That, I wish I did know.”
He shifted, leaning his weight against the balcony wall. Folding his arms over his chest, he lifted his face to the brilliant, nighttime sky. Its twinkling stars were like his charge, he thought: beautiful, but distant. Unfeeling. Cold.
“Have you spoken with her?”
The fairy’s question interrupted his gloomy reflections.
“She said little.”
“I met with no better success.”
“You tried?”
“Aye, I did, but to no avail. She has succumbed to despair and refused to meet my eyes or hear my voice. I fear she is lost in a dark place where I cannot reach her.”
“Why?” he frowned.
“High-Chief, think. Think of all that has befallen her since her arrival in Aerisia. Nay, even coming to our land was a hardship, for she was required to leave behind all that she knew and all whom she loved upon Earth. Then she exchanged the friends and familiarity of Laytrii for Treygon, a foreign and frightening place to her. She’s been attacked more than once in these few weeks and her life put in jeopardy. Matters have been hard for her. Now, in silence and despair, she seeks a solace from reality.”
“She showed no signs of this the night Jonase struck,” he protested mildly, thinking of that evening. She’d certainly not been cold and indifferent then. Light save him, but he’d not forgotten her kiss.
“No, not then. I suspect come morning she reconsidered her plight. Perhaps she decided we ask too much. All I know is that her state is brittle, fragile.”
“Like a shell.”
The fairy’s emerald eyes met his, pleading for her friend.
“Aye, a shell. A shell into which she’s withdrawn as a means of protecting herself.”
“What can we do? Will she heal?”
“Heal? She must heal! High-Chief, it is your duty to help her.”
Aureeyah glided closer, placing a hand on his forearm and gazing imploringly into his face.
“Why my duty?” he responded tersely, little favoring the idea. He’d done his part by rescuing her from the creature, and far beyond the following night. What more could he do?
“Because you are Joined to her. You may be able to reach her when none of us can.”
He looked away, recalling Lady Hannah’s entreaty that fateful night and his own pledge.
Ilgard, help me… I don’t know what to say or do or think anymore. Everyone wants me to become the Artan, but I have no idea who she is! It’s like my life isn’t my own, and I don’t even know why. I have to know, though. What happened today—it didn’t happen without a reason, did it? There must be a reason why. A reason why me.
He had told her there was a reason. He had said, One day you will know you are the Artan. You will know your magic, your strength, and your purpose in Aerisia.
Had he meant that? He had promised himself that night that he would help her discover herself. Help her be the Artan. Maybe this was the first step in fulfilling that promise.
“Perhaps you are right,” he agreed aloud. Then asked, “How do you suggest I help her? We have both tried reasoning with her and failed.”
The fairy’s answer was thoughtful, slow in coming. “I think sympathy will not work. Nor reason. As you said, we both attempted to reason with her, and I offered much sympathy as well. If anything, they only drove her further away.”
“What then?”
“What is left?” she shrugged. “Anger?”
“Anger?”
It sounded far-fetched—albeit, given their past history, making her angry ought to be easy enough.
“Aye, angry…” the fairy mused. “It could work. Make her angry enough, and she may be forced of her own initiative to shatter the walls of this self-constructed shell.”
She stepped away, a fey smile twitching at her lips. Moonlight glinted on the silvery blonde of her hair, washing her pale skin in ivory. Like all creatures of her race, she exuded magic, entrancing and delicate, at once soothing, mystifying, and gratifying to the senses.
“I believe this may work, High-Chief. It must work. After all, she cannot grow into her role as Artan until this lethargy is broken. Indeed,” Aureeyah continued, peering off toward distant, mist-mantled peaks, “it is high time I relay the legend of the Artan and commence working with her. We agreed to wait a time before you sent for me, letting her accustom herself to life in Aerisia, in Treygon. But daily strengthens the might of The Evil. We have both heard the reports coming in. The fact that Jonase could have assaulted her as he did underscores this truth.
“We need her,” she said simply, lifting her face to his. “Aye, and we need you as well. Time for you to take her in hand.”
“Surely you could make her angry.”
“Oh no, not if I am to instruct her later. I must have her full faith. Besides”—Aureeyah smirked—“I am a fairy, and it is hard for us to give offense. You, however, are the Simathe High-Chief. A gentle touch is not needed here. I think this task must be given to you.”
There were many things he could have said, but he released the arguments into the void. The fairy had a point. So bewitching was her kind that they were hard-pressed to give offense, even when they tried. As for himself, his very presence was an offense to many. Including the young Artan, much of the time.
“As you say. I see my duty,” he promised.
“Soon,” the fairy urged. “You must do this soon.”
“Aye, soon.”
Off
ering a quick bow, he strode away, leaving the fairy alone on the high balcony just as he had found her.
First…Kiss?
“Come in,” I called at the rapping of knuckles on my bedroom door, and lifted dull eyes to see Cole entering the room.
“My lady.” He sketched a polite half-bow. “The High-Chief requests your presence at the training grounds.”
“The training grounds?”
I tried to weigh this, faintly suspicious that—considering the source—it might be some sort of challenge, but I found I really didn’t care. Let him bait me all he wanted. I wasn’t up to dealing with it.
Letting my head sag against the headrest, I said, “Tell him I don’t feel up to it this morning.”
“My lady?”
Although he didn’t exactly show it, the man clearly couldn’t believe I’d even consider disregarding orders from his High-Chief.
“No,” I repeated, a touch more firmly. “Tell him I said no, I don’t feel like it.”
The Simathe hesitated. “My lady, the High-Chief also sends word he will come escort you to the training grounds, if you wish.”
A frown slipped across my face. The past several days had been hard. The morning after Jonase’s attack, I had been in my room, getting dressed, when a tidal wave of emotions slammed me so hard I’d crumpled to my knees on the stone floor. The homesickness, the agony of losing my family, the fear of facing Jonase, then drocnords, then Jonase again… The horror of nearly being raped…
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