The Sunset Lands Beyond (The Complete Series, Books 1-3): An epic portal fantasy boxed set

by Sarah Ashwood

  “But how?” she mused aloud, as if she had forgotten him. “How? Nobody on Earth can do these things. I’m from Earth—I am! This is supposed to be impossible. I don’t understand.”

  “Perhaps when you’ve heard the legend of the Artan, you shall,” he offered, redirecting her considerations.

  “Hey, maybe you’re right! Maybe I should ask Aureeyah.”

  “I’ll send for her.”

  He rose.

  “Ilgard, wait a second.” Her call checked him. Turning, the warrior looked into and was imprisoned by mismatched eyes of brown and green. “What was all that business about my necklace? Why was it warmer after I blew up the pillow? Why did it change color? What does the necklace have to do with anything, anyhow?”

  The longer he stared into those strange, bewitching eyes, the greater his odd discomfort. Best he depart. “The fairy will explain all,” he pledged, throwing the words over his shoulder as he strode from her chamber.

  It was time he sent for the fairy, informed her of what he’d discovered. Also high time the young Artan heard what had been kept from her and learned more of her heritage. This task he would leave to Aureeyah. Better she handle matters of this kind than he. The more time he spent in his charge’s company, the more difficulty he had in laying aside the perplexing stirrings provoked by her.

  The irony of this did not escape him. After spending so many years in devotion to his homeland, with no woman’s presence to soften his life, how was a man to forget a maid when the sole reason for his existence had come down to safeguarding her? How, when it was quite likely for this very purpose that fate had created him? His centuries of silent service to Aerisia notwithstanding, no purpose compared with this: defending the very heart, soul, and future of his native soil.

  Ultimately, as Joined guardian of the Lady Hannah, he had no loftier purpose in life.

  The Prophecy

  Much later I lay on my bed, propped against the headboard with a pile of plump pillows. I was too tired to stay up but had so much to think about I couldn’t sleep. Never mind the raw weariness from today’s forced labor; my mind was restless and my brain alert, conspiring to withhold rest.

  You are the Artan…

  Again, I ran the words through my mind, wondering how many times I’d heard them during my visit to this land. How long had I been here anyway? Two months? Three, four? I’d lost track of time; it wasn’t that important when I was merely living from one day to the next with no solid goals on which to focus. Especially no homecoming—and that thought hurt worse than the rest. Aerisia still didn’t feel like home, and I doubted it ever would.

  Laytrii, Artan, Aureeyah. Ilgard, Cole. Rittean, Risean. Elisia, Garett. So many different people, races, and histories. Me, Hannah Elizabeth. So diverse, but all of us linked by a common thread: Aerisia, the land and its people. Only, where did I fit into the grand scheme of things?

  Of course, as the Artan. The one prophesied to save them all from…whatever it was that threatened. Funny, but I had yet to discern much of a threat. I’d seen drocnords, deathcats, and Jonase (even now that name sent a shudder down my spine), but Jonase was dead, and any other aggravations the Simathe, Ranetron, and Cortain seemed perfectly capable of handling.

  There was something more, though. Something I sensed I was being shielded from. Why? Were they afraid their precious “deliverer” would turn tail and run if she knew what she was really up against?

  Deliverer. Me—a rescuer, a deliverer.

  The Artan.

  Closing my eyes, I burrowed into my cozy nest of pillows, recalling the prophecy and legend of the Artan, both of which Aureeyah had finally shared with me…

  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.

  This was the prophecy, these beautiful, flowing words. Poetic as it was, I had no idea what most, if any, of it meant. Even Aureeyah claimed ignorance of its entire meaning. It had been handed down through the ages, passed along for so many generations that even the prophet’s name had been obliterated by time.

  The more commonly known parts of the tale began many lifetimes ago, when the Dark Powers had all but succeeded in blotting out the light of the sun. Destruction loomed, and hope seemed fruitless until there arose a deliverer: a young woman who resisted the shadows, rallying her countrymen to do the same.

  Her name was Artan.

  After a long and bloody struggle engulfing the length and breadth of Aerisia, a war costing countless lives, this Joan of Arc-like figure and her followers eventually reclaimed what had been lost. Once more, sunlight dispelled the gloom. The Dark Powers were defeated—but not for good. The people knew this, Artan knew this, and although they rebuilt their lives, they continued to watch for any signs that the Dark Powers were moving against them.

  Though young, Artan was wise, and she feared the passing of time would subject the Aerisian peoples to forgetfulness. In the forgetting would come inattentiveness, and Artan knew that when this occurred, the Dark Powers would rebuild themselves and send The Evil to consume the land. It was said that she herself foretold of a time when this would happen—a time when the sun would be darkened and all light dimmed. Furthermore, it was believed that the prophecy of the Artan, a prediction of another young woman who would arise to fight the foe, came to light shortly after the first Artan disappeared, never to be seen again. Nobody knew her fate. For years the people of Aerisia sought her, to no avail. No traces of the first Artan were ever found.

  Little else was known of the prophecy, and nothing more of the first Artan. According to Aureeyah, some believed her magic would be her greatest weapon, while others claimed it would be the love of her people—a love inspiring them to willingly leave their homes and lay down their lives in her service.

  At the conclusion of this incredible story, I’d asked Aureeyah to explain the significance of my necklace to the tale.

  “The stone,” she’d informed me, “is ages old.”

  Somehow, it was tied to me as the next Artan, although precisely how nobody could say. The priceless relic had been discovered during the days of High-Chieftess Laytrii by Moonkind stonecutters, hidden in the deep caverns winding their way through Mount Mortane. The stonecutters had discovered it sealed within a transparent box of green crystal, shoved into the shadowy recesses of a stone niche. Also inside was a withered parchment whose High Tongue lettering proclaimed that the piece was linked to the forthcoming Artan and advised that upon her advent it must be given to her.

  Realizing the tremendous importance of this find, the High-Chieftess had guarded the jewelry the remainder of her life and, upon her passing, had charged the newly appointed High Elder of Aerisia with its future watchcare. The tradition then began that each new High Elder, when he or she accepted office, swore a formal oath that bound them to the protection of the “necklace of the Artan,” as it later came to be called. It was a tradition maintained until the stone could be delivered into the hands of the next Artan. Which meant until my time since it now belonged to me.

  In the semidarkness of my room, I laid a fingertip to the mysterious gem suspended from my neck, fascinated that I should be wearing something so ancient, so mysterious, so valuable. I figured that my powers as the Artan must somehow be associated with the
pale pink stone. This would explain why using them had altered the jewel’s color and made it glow with warmth.

  Tracing a thumb over the stone’s polished surface, I continued to mull things over.

  When I’d questioned Aureeyah as to why my magic had sprung to the fore only twice, why it hadn’t come to my rescue during Jonase’s attack, she’d carefully replied, “This is not unusual, my lady. Until you master your talents and direct them as you will, the magic will come and go as it pleases. It will be erratic and set in motion by uncertain and varying causes. That is why the High-Chief brought me to Treygon, that I might teach you to conquer your magic—to wield it like a weapon, with dexterity and skill.”

  Inborn abilities, magic, enchantments. It all seemed so incredible. I couldn’t quit asking, why me? How me? How could I be the Artan, of this world and beyond?

  “Surely on Earth you must have sensed that you were different?”

  No, never. Never…except maybe once. One black night so deep in my past that I could scarcely recall it and, when I did, wished I never had. Whatever the truth of that incident, it’d occurred so long ago that I questioned its validity. Was it real or a dream?

  Before, I may’ve had cause to doubt. Now, there was little room for reservations, although part of me hated accepting the fact that I wasn’t who I’d always been. That I might be something else, something more. I’d once vowed to find out the truth and to learn to become the Artan if it meant controlling my own destiny and protecting myself from danger. However, could somebody prophesied to a certain fate ever really control her own destiny?

  Oddly, discovering I was who they said I was sort of hurt. Maybe I just needed time to accept the full impact of this revelation. I still didn’t know why me or how it was possible for an ordinary young woman from the United States to suddenly become the prophesied liberator of some unknown world parallel to mine. Maybe not knowing how I’d been chosen to fulfill the role was part of the problem. Maybe I still needed more answers.

  However, when I’d pressed for them, my fairy friend had clammed up and refused to speak. She’d told me the prophecy and much of the legend, but further she wouldn’t go. Now was not the time, she said, nor was the remainder of the tale hers to relate. I’d have to be content with the information she’d given me. I’d tried to worm more out of her but got nowhere. For all her soft, ethereal beauty, a fairy could be as cast-iron as a Simathe when she put her mind to it. I’d learned nothing else. And that was why I lay awake in the murkiness of my room pondering, thinking, contemplating, debating, conjecturing.

  Sleep was a long time coming.

  Visitors

  Perturbed, I was pacing the perimeter of Treygon’s outer wall. Frustration dogged my steps, and even the exercise wasn’t getting rid of it. This was my third lap, and I scarcely felt better than when I’d started.

  I heard footsteps behind me but didn’t bother checking to see who was following. One of them was always there: Kan, Cole, Chief Captain Norband, Lord Contrey, Lord Sarvye, a couple of others. Sometimes the High-Chief followed, though another warrior was usually assigned. Once I left my bedroom’s confining four walls, I was never alone. Even when I kept to my room, there was now a guard stationed outside my door, in addition to the pair in the corridor. Apparently, there’d be no repeat performance of the last time I’d managed a few minutes alone, because the Simathe were determined I’d never be alone again.

  This place is locked down tighter than solitary confinement on Alcatraz, I grumped.

  The whole guards-all-over-the-place thing wasn’t the reason for my bad mood, however. Or, rather, it hadn’t started it. The underlying cause was the long lesson with Aureeyah that I’d just left. Now I not only had to contend with daily practice sessions with one Simathe or another, I also spent time with the fairy, trying—in vain, so far—to pin down and utilize my powers as the Artan.

  Nothing is working, nothing!

  Hence the reason for my long walk. Annoyance oozed out of each terse step, each broad swing of the arms.

  Archery was the only bright spot in weapons training, but there hadn’t been any bright spots with the fairy. I was beginning to consider myself simply inept and inadequate, not only as the Artan, but also as a person. Maybe I was a hopeless case.

  At least there’d been no more forced riding lessons. My nose wrinkled as I considered taking on one of those massive beasts. Speaking of which, the clatter of horse hooves caught my ears, and I turned in time to witness the last of a large group of horsemen disappearing through one of the courtyard’s side gates.

  What’s up with that?

  Those horses weren’t Restless; they’d looked far too normal. And even though I hadn’t gotten a good look at any of the riders, from what I could ascertain they weren’t Simathe either.

  Slowing down a bit, I proceeded in the direction of the gate through which the horses and riders had vanished, my long skirt swirling about my heels. After clearing it, I found myself standing just off the weapons ring, where bouts of swordplay typically took place. At least a dozen horses had arrived, and most of them carried Ranetron. I couldn’t see the remainder of the group, those who’d already dismounted. The mounted warriors blocked my view.

  “What’s all this?” I asked the guard who’d come to a halt behind me.

  “A party summoned by the High-Chief.”

  Ilgard sent for these people? Why?

  I tossed a glance over my shoulder. Today’s watchdog was Kan. Yesterday, Lord Contrey had been my shadow, and the day before—had it been Kan again? Or Lord Norband?

  Not that it makes much difference which guard it is.

  My shadows did their job as noiselessly as real shadows would. Nobody around here besides Aureeyah talked to me much.

  With the fairy in mind, I felt a stirring of apprehension as I neared the mounted Ranetron. The notion had occurred that they might’ve come to escort the fairy back to her forest home. After all, she’d have to return someday. Unfortunately, with the way my luck ran, it would probably be sooner rather than later.

  “Lady Hannah!”

  I spun around.“Rittean!”

  Laughing, I ran to her, not stopping until we caught each other in a warm embrace. Stepping back, I shoved the hair from my face, laughing and trying to talk at the same time. “Rittean, what’re you doing here? I can’t believe you came! I mean, I’m so happy to see you!”

  If eyes could laugh, hers surely were over my unrefined, unbridled enthusiasm. “And it’s a pleasure to see you, my lady, I assure you!” Linking arms with me, she ducked under a horse’s nose, pulling me along. “Come, see who else has arrived!”

  She waved toward the weapon’s ring, where I saw an old man in coffee-colored robes similar to her own. His back was to me, but I knew it her father, Risean Wy’ Curlm. Also present were Lord Garett, the Ranetron High-Chief, and, “Is that Lord Elgrend?” I voiced aloud. “And Lady Tey?”

  “You are correct. It is the High Elder. And the Cortain Pronconcil, as well.”

  I found myself gawking at the beautiful noblewoman like a teenage boy in the presence of Miss America.

  Merciful heavens, she’s beautiful.

  The young warrior wore armor styled after the Ranetrons’, but no amount of leather and metal could disguise her absurd beauty. Long, silken hair, blonde with delicate red highlights, was pulled back from the sides of her face into twin braids that were woven together in the back. She balanced a helmet with a tufted black plume comfortably against her hip. A sheathed sword in a plain scabbard was strapped to her waist, and her arms—bare except for armbands—had muscle tone any fitness fanatic would envy. She had to be around six feet tall, and her proportions were flawless. She was stunning, like an Amazon queen from Greek mythology.

  Contrasting myself with the Cortain, I felt short, dumpy, dark, and plain—then guilty for being so stupid.

  This isn’t a competition, you moron. Why would you feel the need to compete with her anyway?

  Lady
Elisia hadn’t provoked such envy. Why Lady Tey? Because she was calm and confident as a leader and a woman? Here I was feeling like a dismal failure, and there she was, at ease with herself and her occupation, beautiful, commanding, secure in her abilities.

  She’s who the Artan should be, I realized bitterly. Not some plain-Jane nobody like me. She could inspire anyone to do anything—I couldn’t inspire a hen to go sit on her own eggs.

  “Lady Hannah?” Rittean’s sweet voice crashed my pity party, returning my focus back to herself. “They have come a long journey at the High-Chief’s request to see you. Will you not make them welcome?”

  Do I have to?

  Okay, so maybe I wasn’t quite ready to face the Cortain Pronconcil, even though I knew the whole thing of her unconsciously showing me up was stupid. Or maybe my problem lay with Risean. I had to admit, in my heart of hearts, I was still carrying a grudge against the old Moonkind for being the one to bring me here against my will. Nevertheless, keeping all this to myself, I meekly followed my friend over to receive the visiting group.

  “Hannah, child.” Risean smiled to see me coming. He extended his hands in welcome clasping my fingers within his own. “I see you fare well. This pleases me.”

  Yeah, and it’s all about you, isn’t it? I thought as he bent to plant a fatherly kiss on my brow.

  Whoa, where’d that come from?

  Shocked by my own cattiness, I glanced guiltily toward Rittean, only to see her beaming at the two of us. No jealousy marred her expression. She was simply happy—happy that her father cared for her friend.

  I felt about two inches tall. If Rittean could be that sweet, that accepting, that welcoming, why couldn’t I let go of bitter feelings against her father? It wasn’t like he was the only one responsible for dragging me here. Not to mention, if it were true, I was the Artan—which was looking more and more likely—maybe they’d simply done what they had to do. Ashamed of my unkindness, I silently vowed to be more like the Moonkind girl and release unnecessary grudges.