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

by Sarah Ashwood

  Maybe Braisley can tell me about this, too.

  Speaking of Braisley, I quickly discovered she wasn’t in her room, although there was nothing particularly surprising about this. Fairies were provided suites on the basis of being honored guests, but they didn’t necessarily require beds, sleep, food, or anything else a human guest might need. Which meant not finding a fairy in her bedchamber in the middle of the night was really nothing to fret over. The main thing worrying me was figuring out where the heck she’d gone. For all I knew, she might have returned to Cleyton, although I didn’t think she’d do that without telling me goodbye.

  Looking about her room, I tried to work out my next course of action. There wasn’t much chance anybody else would know where the fairy had gone, so I scratched the idea of asking the servants. Briefly, I considered giving up and going back to bed, but I was wide awake and, honestly, the risk of falling asleep and suffering a second nightmare wasn’t all that appealing.

  There must be some way to find her.

  Just like that, I knew. There was. All I had to do was call on my magic, open myself up, and look.

  I tried. Unlocking myself, I let power flood me, while simultaneously visualizing the missing fairy in my mind’s eye. Nothing came to me.

  Strange.

  Frowning, I closed my eyes, concentrating harder. Still nothing.

  Rats! What am I doing wrong?

  Another flash of inspiration. Maybe I needed more than to simply visualize her. Maybe I needed some kind of physical connection. To touch something of hers, as well as see her in my mind. Accordingly, I gave the poorly lit room a hasty search, but nothing leapt out as being useful. In fact, if I hadn’t known the chamber was hers, I might’ve thought it was unoccupied. The bed was perfectly made, the furniture exactly aligned and in place. There was no clothing, toiletries, or jewelry scattered about.

  My eyes finally lighted on the massive, ornate bed and came to rest. If Braisley had used this room at all—and I knew she must have—then the possibilities she’d sat or laid on the bed were pretty good. It might be a tenuous connection, but it was the best I could come up with. Moving to the bed, I leaned over it, splaying both hands on its rich, embroidered coverlet. Once again I tried what I’d attempted before: closing my eyes and visualizing the beautiful fairy, carefully recalling every detail of her appearance, while reaching inside for that spring of power…

  The vision came, flooding me with force. An image of Braisley appeared in my mind’s eye, sharp and brilliant as the fairy herself. It wavered, growing fuzzy at the edges, but I clutched the blanket tightly, straining after her. The conjuring blanked out in a sheet of snowy white, then returned, changed to the room in which I stood.

  This is it, I thought, elated with success. I’ve done it!

  Sweeping out her open door, the image passed into the hallway and spiraled down the corridor. It was lethargic at first, but rapidly picked up speed, racing along the route she must have taken in a tunnel vision of dizzying velocity. Dizzying, that is, until it slammed up against a closed door with a jarring impact I physically felt. Pausing, it drifted easily through the door and down a flight of winding steps. At the bottom lay an immense, underground chamber, completely dark except for the shimmer of Braisley’s aura. I searched in vain for further details, but the visualization winked out before I could figure out where she was.

  My mind back in my own body, I pushed myself up from the bed. I may not have known exactly where she was, or what room she was in, but I felt some inner instinct associated with my seeking vision leading me to her. I felt it, identified it, and heeded it, hoping I’d soon have the answers I sought.

  The door was old, its wood blunt, thick, and scarred. Iron bands stretched across wooden panels, huge black nails meshing the two into a sturdy entranceway. The metal bolt hung open; someone was inside, someone who either had a key or the power to open a lock without a key. Braisley? I was sure my quest to find her would end here, beyond this door, down a zigzagging flight of stone steps.

  I took them quickly, hardly noticing the how the walls were damp and slick beneath my hand. The stairs went down and around, twisting and turning, yet I didn’t slow. The night vision I’d summoned up guided my steps and quickened my pace.

  Before long, the dancing radiance of an aura flickered on the wall before me. My pace picked up again. Rounding the final bend, I halted at the top of the last dozen stairs leading down to the chamber floor. There she stood, her ghostly white aura filling the vaulted chamber. Unconsciously, I released the power, no longer needing the night vision. With it, the aura rather blinded me.

  Slower now, I descended the final steps, my slippers thumping and my robe whispering against stone with every movement. Once at the bottom, my slippers clattered loudly on the floor, the echoes discordant with the vault’s cool stillness. I slipped them off, gliding barefoot toward the heart of the glowing light.

  “Braisley?”

  She stood behind a waist-high table. Its thick, lined column was about three feet in diameter, while its top was a round marble slab whose width was twice that of the pedestal. Scattered across the surface of this slab were at least two dozen Stones ranging in size from the tip of my pinky to a man’s fist. The Stones were a wild rainbow of colors: red, pink, lavender, indigo, yellow, green, orange, blue, and every shade in between. The colors of the sunset. Without being told, I knew what they were—the prophecy’s fabled Singing Stones. I knew, because I heard their music in my own mind.

  “Braisley?”

  Although I’d easily tuned out the music, I wondered if the fairy was having problems doing the same. She stood transfixed with her hands spread over the Stones, her eyes fastened on one large, red Stone resting in the center of the tabletop. I hesitated, half afraid of disturbing her. Need, nonetheless, outweighed caution, and in the end I found myself standing across from her, the table between us as I called her name a third, fourth time.

  “Braisley? Braisley?”

  Her body gave a sudden quiver, her eyes darting from the Stone to my face. I was surprised to see a sheen of perspiration dampening her porcelain features.

  “Braisley? You okay? What’s going on?”

  “I was…I had—had a vision.”

  The jumble of words trailed off awkwardly as she glanced away, fumbling with the delicate folds of her gown. For my part, I was taken aback by seeing this powerful, serene fairy so discombobulated. Edging around the table, I stepped to her side, placing a hand on her forearm. She stopped fidgeting and looked at me with wide green eyes tinged with fear.

  “Braisley? What is it, what’s wrong? What did you see in your vision that’s got you so upset?”

  Reaching up a pallid hand, she touched my cheek, as if reassuring herself I was really there.

  “I beheld you, Lady Hannah. I saw you in strange places, attired in strange clothing. You were near death myriad times, yet it was never allowed to touch you. In the end, you were victorious and escaped.”

  I gaped at her. “You can’t be serious! I had a dream tonight exactly like what you’re describing. Something told me to come find you and tell you about it.”

  Her gossamer wings halting their agitated fluttering, the fairy regarded me carefully, her surprise and fear dissolving into calmness.

  “Then so you must. Tell me all that you saw, all that you dreamt.”

  So I told her, told her everything, leaving nothing out. She listened closely, not saying a word throughout the whole recital. At its conclusion, she nodded evenly, her hands now folded at her waist.

  “Your dream and my vision are one and the same. All was as you’ve described.”

  “But how’s that possible? How could you have a vision of my dream?”

  “It is nothing so mysterious, lady. The stronger one’s magic, the more probable they will experience significant visions. Ever have I been subject to this. At times these dreams are my own. At other times, they are likenesses of visions dreamt by those such as the Moonkind, m
y sister fairies, or even the Scraggen. Their power attracts mine, and for a time our minds meld in sleep.”

  I slacked a hip against the stone table. “That’s unbelievable. Nothing I’ve ever dreamed has felt so real or had the weird sequences or elements this one did. What do you think that means?”

  Placing her hand over one of the smooth Stones, she rubbed it gently with her palm.

  “All dreams have meaning. Whether it be the recalling of a forgotten memory, or a secret yearning for a lost love…all dreams have meaning and thus a place. However, there are dreams—certain, singular dreams—whose interpretations, could they be unlocked, would reveal mysteries of the future. Perhaps your dream was such a dream.”

  “So you think it was trying to tell me the future?”

  “Who can say?” The hand on the Stone stilled. “Perhaps this dream predicts what will or could be. Doubtless it was powerful, for it shared itself with me as well as with you. Yes, yes I believe a dream this unique must contain a meaning of great importance.”

  “And have you not noticed,” she continued, her fingertips now trailing idly from Stone to Stone, “the strangeness of this night?”

  “You mean how there were no guards outside my door? Or how Ilgard didn’t come, even though this dream made me wake up sweating and shaking? There’s no way he couldn’t have felt that.”

  “Just so. The potency of this dream has disrupted the night’s peace for some, while others it has sunken into slumber. The High-Chief may have been taken in the latter manner, and not allowed to waken. The guards outside your chamber in the former: compelled by reasons unknown to depart their posts. When one with your power is beset by such dreams, the night hours are often altered for those in close proximity.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know that. I had no idea things could change for other people just because they’re around me.”

  She glanced up, eyes hooded. “To put it simply, my dear, you are a facilitator for change.”

  I wasn’t sure what all she meant by that, but chose to let it go, asking instead, “So, this dream of mine…can you interpret it?”

  “I cannot,” she replied with a sad sort of frown. “Though I can sometimes interpret a mysterious sweven, the significance of yours is hidden from me. However, that does not mean I cannot tell you where you may seek answers.”

  I felt my pulse pick up. “Really? Where is that?”

  The fairy closed her emerald eyes as if in pain. “I fear to tell you. You will go, Hannah, and I’ll not be able to prevent you.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Nay, my lady, it is far worse,” she sighed. “But I suppose you must know.”

  Trapped

  Although her back was to the darkened staircase, Braisley was not surprised to hear the echo of booted feet racing lightly down the stone steps. Soon they would reach the bottom. When they did…

  Sighing, she picked up the smallest of the Singing Stones, rolling it lightly between thumb and forefinger, seeking comfort from its magic. The footsteps reached the bottom stair. Stopped. There came the faint rustle of clothing as he bent to retrieve the slippers Lady Hannah had left behind. He advanced, slower now. Braisley could hear the gentle slap of sword against thigh with each step he took.

  Straightening her shoulders, she braced herself inwardly and outwardly for the inevitable confrontation. Knowing it was unavoidable, she changed her mind about waiting passively. Taking the initiative, she replaced the Stone and spun to meet him. He took her actions in stride, his black eyes flickering over her with such scant heed that she might have been another of the vault’s furnishings.

  Braisley was fully aware of what he sought. She also knew that even though the darkest corners yielded their secrets to the Simathe’s incomparable night vision, the High-Chief wouldn’t find his lady in this place. Nor anywhere else, for that matter. Again, the fairy steeled herself for the inevitable conflict when he discovered this for himself.

  Maintaining her silence, the fairy noted the warrior’s half-dressed appearance, bespeaking of a sudden awakening to find the Artan gone. Their Joining link had led him here, but further he would not go. As soon as he accepted her absence, the questions were not slow in coming.

  “Where is she, Braisley? Where is my lady?”

  “Not here,” Braisley answered evenly.

  “Then where?” the High-Chief demanded, terser this time.

  “I don’t know.”

  It is the truth, she soothed herself, for she really did not know the Artan’s exact whereabouts at this precise minute.

  “You don’t know?” Soulless black eyes held her in a hard, unforgiving grasp. “What reply is this? Do not presume me a fool, fairy. You know full well where she has gone. Her presence lingers in this chamber, but no further. You know why,” he added accusingly.

  “I have told you, I do not—”

  “I will not hear that again!” He cut her off with a terse hand motion, effectively slicing away her protests. “You know—tell me!”

  There was naught to be gained by concealing the truth any longer, Braisley decided at last. Her mind made up, she confessed bravely.

  “Lady Hannah has gone to a place where you, my lord, cannot follow.”

  His expressionless face changed little, unless it was to grow harder.

  “What place?”

  She lowered her eyes to the floor. “She has gone to the Underworld.”

  The silence of death met her hushed words. In the deep stillness, the fairy could hear the rush and intake of both their breaths. Long seconds dragged by, yet she did not look up. When he finally spoke, his tone was dangerously calm.

  “The Underworld?”

  “Aye, Lord Ilgard. The Underworld.”

  “Where?” he demanded brusquely, ire clearly rising. “Where in the Underworld?”

  “The Vale of the Dreamers.”

  Another long silence. When she finally dared to look, Braisley peeked up to see the Simathe’s wicked eyes narrow with wrath. His was face inscrutably hard.

  “Nay, fairy,” he breathed. “You are mistaken. Even to the Underworld will I follow her.”

  He said no more. Dropping the slippers to clatter on the floor, he spun on his heel to leave.

  “Don’t be a fool, Simathe!”

  Her words lashed out in the empty hush of the vault, arresting his progress. Taking advantage of the slight hesitation, Braisley moved swiftly, throwing herself into his path. When he shifted, making as though he’d steal around her, she flung both hands against his torso as if to physically restrain him.

  “Ilgard, my lord, wait. You know not the way, nor will I tell you. To follow her would mean only bitter results for both you and her.”

  “Have you not heard, fairy?” he growled. “I am Simathe: an immortal. The Underworld holds no terrors for me.”

  “There are other forms of death besides death of the body. You have heard the tales: even an immortal, such as yourself, may make a misstep and find himself consigned to an eternity of living death.”

  “While a mortal would simply perish. Out of my way, Braisley. Though I seek help from another to gain entrance, I will follow my lady.”

  With that, he sidestepped, pushing around her and heading for the staircase. The man was impossible. Unreasonable. He’d not heeded, just as she’d known he would not.

  “My lord, I must ask you to stop,” Braisley called after him.

  He kept going as if he’d not heard, his left foot now on the bottom step.

  “My lord, I like not to do this, but if you refuse to listen—”

  Her warning ignored, she was left with no other choice. Before he managed the first stairwell bend that would take him from sight, the fairy flung out her right arm, fingers opening wide to release a bolt of pure power. It caught the fleeing warrior, ensnaring him in a white blaze that slammed him mercilessly against the stone wall. Fixed there, his arms pinned to his sides by the power circling him in a flaming ring, the Simathe struggled fiercely to
break free. For all his writhing and twisting, his furious straining, the magic—the fairy—proved too powerful.

  Slowly, Braisley moved up the steps to face him, barely maintaining a mask of serenity when he shouted at her, “What have you done? Release me, release me at once!”

  “I cannot, my lord.”

  She stopped before him, outwardly as unbothered by the spectacle as a marble statue, though inwardly she hated this, and quailed from the sight.

  “Braisley, let me go. Release me!”

  A note of panic had crept into his voice, but it was more than being held captive that had put it there. His next words were a confirmation of that fact.

  “I cannot feel her, Braisley. She is not there, I cannot feel her.” He thrashed harder against the restraints. “What have you done?”

  Something twisted inside at his torment, at seeing one of the immortals lose their famed control, but Braisley heard only the Artan’s soft begging: Don’t let him follow me, Braisley. Please. Whatever happens, don’t let him come after me. I’d rather die than have anything happen to Ilgard. Do something, anything; just don’t let him follow me to the Underworld.

  And the fairy of Cleyton had given her word.

  Shifting, she leaned against the wall for support, its slick dampness barely registering against her folded wings. Already, the strain of imprisoning one as mighty as this was making itself known. Were he an ordinary human, this would be far less difficult.

  “Calm yourself, High-Chief,” she said. “I gave the lady my word that I would not allow you to follow her. It was her wish that you remain here. I have temporarily blocked your bond so that, until she returns, you will neither feel her nor know her whereabouts. It is the only way I can be assured that, should you break free of me, you cannot go after her.”

  He would have none of it. “Release me, fairy,” he ordered furiously. “At least restore our bond, allow me to feel her.”