Sweat shone on his temples. His lips were bloodless against the bronze of his face as he exerted all his strength to throw off her restraints. Mentally, the fairy was aware of him straining equally hard against the blocked bond, struggling for a way to reopen it.
She shook her head. “I cannot, my lord. You know this. If I did—”
“It would be better for us all.”
“I cannot!”
She let the stairwell take more of her weight, shocked by the effort necessary to sustain both the restraining ring and the shield over the Simathe’s Joining link. A fairy’s power was not meant to be used in this way. Most, outside their vales, couldn’t have done it at all. Fortunate indeed that she was Aerisia’s strongest fairy. For, if she found this task so difficult, could another have even executed it?
The Simathe wrenched violently from side to side, muttering vile curses against herself, her sister fairies, women in general, and any with the ability to wield magic. The need to open the bond, to fill the void her shield inflicted, provided a fresh, wild strength born of sheer desperation. Nevertheless, Braisley held firm, concentrating all her power, hoping fervently she could persevere until the lady returned. The future of all Aerisia depended upon a swift conclusion to the Artan’s perilous Underworld journey.
I take a deep breath, feeling as if I’m poised on the brink of infinity, of eternity, of destiny. I don’t know what awaits me on my journey to the Underworld; I only know that it’s a journey I have to make. Somehow, it’s tied to my fate as the Artan, so I must walk the path unfurling before me to find out how and why.
The doorway stands open, a welcoming blaze of light that bids me enter and lose myself in its warm interior. Turning, I cast a final look at Braisley, fairy of Cleyton, who stands by the marble table holding the fabled Singing Stones. Her face calm, her carriage regal, she dips her head in an undecipherable gesture that might be reassurance I’m doing the right thing, encouragement, or a farewell. Maybe it’s all three.
This is it! I tell myself, and step into the light. Bright colors shimmer around me, pastels seep into me, and bold darks consume me. Time shudders to a standstill as I surge forward three steps, feeling like I’m wading in Jell-O. Then I’m through. The light and colors vanish, and before I have time to twist my neck and glance behind me, I hear a soft whisking noise. Braisley’s doorway is gone.
I’m in the Underworld, and what awaits me in this place is anybody’s guess.
Conclude the story with Book 3, Aerisia: Field of Battle.
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
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: Field of Battle
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
Dedication
In memory of my Pa-Pa, H.B. Ferguson, Jr. For years, he asked me every time he saw me if I’d been writing more stories, and then read every single one I gave him. I’m so happy I was able to place real novels in his hands. The impact his encouragement had on me as a writer, and as a person, will never be forgotten.
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 time for action is upon me. I’ve passed the initial tests of being the Artan. I’ve declared myself by words, by signs, by exploits, by wonders. Although I’ve progressed beyond belief compared to what I was when I first arrived, I still have a ways to go. Now I must survive the Underworld, a place even immortals shun. Should I pass this test, I know an even greater one awaits me. The time is coming when I’ll have to do more than simply declare myself the Artan. I’ll have to become the Artan. The Dark Powers will contest me, and I’ll have to face them. War is inevitable, should I outlast the Underworld, which I have to do, so I can fight for Aerisia’s future on the final field of battle.
Part One
Underworld Journey
The Gate of Despair
The transporting door created by the fairy, Braisley, disappeared behind me, and I was standing in the womb of Cleyton. A massive Gate carved from solid black stone loomed over me. Once more, the impossible had become possible as the fairy’s magic had transported me beyond her realm of Cleyton, within the snowy peak itself, and to the entrance of the Underworld.
Which wasn’t such a comfy place, as it turned out. The hard rock was terribly cold to my unprotected feet. I frowned down at my toes, which were trying to crumple under the pads of my feet. Rubbing my bare upper arms, I tried to ignore physical discomfort as I considered the Gate before me.
The Underworld. I can’t believe I’m here.
Legend was vague concerning what lay beyond the ebony Gate of Despair, although nothing good was intimated by folklore or its ominous name. The Spinners possessed less information than the fairies, and the fairies th
emselves had precious little.
As I gazed upon the forbidding Gate, Braisley’s warnings echoed in my ears: Leave behind nothing of yourself for them to obtain. A lost slipper, a sliver of fabric snatched by a passing thorn, a hair of your head, nothing. Nothing of the living may be left in the world of the dead.
Before opening the doorway, she’d made me strip down to my nightshift and bind my hair in a tight braid. These were precautions against the Underworld dwellers getting a hold of anything of mine and using it to reach out to me. Reach out through dreams, whispers, thoughts, visions, or worse.
Taking a few hesitant steps toward the colossal Gate, I found myself wishing for Ilgard’s reassuring presence. Sadly, such wishes were useless, as I well knew. After making Braisley swear she’d keep him in Aerisia, I’d left him behind. After all, if something went wrong down below, as a mortal, I would merely die. Mercifully, merely die. However, an immortal like a Simathe or a fairy ran the risk of being trapped in a form of living death, doomed to wander—perhaps eternally—the worlds of both the living and the dead, or lost somewhere in-between. I would not let that be Ilgard’s fate. Not for my sake. He would remain behind because he must and because Braisley had promised me he would. I trusted her.
My being here is proof of that, I thought wryly.
She’d assured me that if I followed her instruction to the letter, I should be fairly safe. She’d also warned me that the Underworld was a place of traps and treachery. I needed to be on my guard at all times, trusting no one I met.
Feeling as prepared as I’d ever be to face the unknown, I lifted a hand to knock on the Gate when a thought struck.
Wait, a gift!
The fairy of Cleyton had told me if I wished admittance from the Gatekeeper, I had to bring a gift. Something not of me, yet something mine to give.
Closing my eyes, I reached deep within, concentrating hard, visualizing in my mind. A heartbeat’s pause, and then I experienced a satisfying rush of energy, a delicious burst of power. I reopened my eyes.
The necklace glittered in the dark tunnel of stone, its intertwining strands of gold and silver encrusted with glowing rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. It floated in the air above my palm, exactly as I’d willed it, but didn’t touch my skin. Real and solid but not of me—nothing I’d ever worn, touched, or owned. Yet it was mine to give because I’d created it by my own power.
Hope this works.
Raising my free hand, I knocked on the obsidian-like Gate of Despair. The echoes reverberated through the dank, murky atmosphere of the cave, and I waited, shifting my weight restlessly from one bare foot to the other. The floor was smooth as glass, an unexpected phenomenon in a remote mountain cave. But then, I’d learned long ago that Aerisia was a place where the only thing to be expected was the unexpected.
Several minutes crawled by with impatience making my wait interminable.
Maybe I should try again?
I’d raised my fist to do just that when the rustle of fabric caught my ears. I gaped as a figure, seemingly formed from the Gate itself, crystallized, stepped out, and emerged to stand before me. Small, squinty eyes gleaming yellow, he looked me up and down.
“You have come to the Gate of Despair,” he croaked in a voice rusty and harsh from disuse. “None may pass without an express purpose. Proclaim yours.”
He—I supposed it was a he—was a twisted, hunchbacked person barely taller than my shoulder. His dark robe was hooded, a deep cowl hiding his face. I couldn’t make out his features. The robe was also torn, dirty, and spotted with malodorous patches that reeked of mold, waste, and sweat. If such an aura of evil hadn’t surrounded him, he might’ve made a rather pathetic figure. As it was, I retreated a step, fearful of standing too close to the Underworld’s Gatekeeper.
“I have c—come…”
No good. I broke off, wincing at the nervous catch in my voice. Clearing my throat, I tried again, forcing resilience into my tones.
“I have indeed come to the Underworld for a purpose. I have come to visit the Dreamers.”
“The Dreamers? The Dreamers,” he echoed slyly. “What will you give me that I should allow you to pass the Gate of Despair and enter the Dreamer’s Vale?”
He twisted skeletal fingers, also covered with moldy, smelly patches, greedily. “A pretty,” he babbled in concert with the fingers folding and unfolding. “A pretty for the Gatekeeper. What will you give?”
He couldn’t take his eyes off the piece still suspended in the air above my hand. “Here,” I said, taking the obvious hint. “Here is my gift. This will I give if you will open the Gate of Despair, allowing me entrance to the Vale of the Dreamers.”
Braisley had coached me thoroughly on what to say and do as I interacted with the Gatekeeper. I hoped I was remembering the dialogue and etiquette she’d insisted upon. Although, I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered whether I was or not, because the Gatekeeper wasn’t noticing my manners. With a ravenous giggle, he snatched the jewelry, his three-inch long chipped, yellow fingernails brushing my palm.
Gasping, I jerked my hand away, giving it a worried examination to make sure he hadn’t broken the skin. It was fine, and I breathed a little sigh of relief. Hoping nothing would come of it, I rubbed my sweaty palm against the thin silk covering my hip, wanting to rid myself of physical contact with the creepy Gatekeeper, if only superficially.
Again, he took no notice of my actions, being so intent on his “pretty.” He mumbled over it, turning the treasure this way and that, admiring its gleaming gold, silver, and precious gems. All the while he kept cackling those crazy giggles that set my teeth on edge. He was so entranced by the bauble that I started to worry he’d forgotten all about me. Worrying my lower lip between my teeth, I wondered if I should break into his one-person party to remind him I was still there
What in the world am I doing? was my next thought. I must be as crazy as he is. Is any dream worth all of this? Even if it is, there has to be an easier way to get an interpretation.
I wanted to turn tail and run… right now. However, upon reaching the Gate of Despair, I had no choice but to enter, since the only Underworld exit was hidden somewhere in the shadowland itself.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Making my mind up, I reached out to tap him on the shoulder. He glanced up in time to see my hand coming and swerved, turning his back. Clutching the necklace to his chest, he peered disdainfully over his shoulder.
“What do you want?” he hissed.
“I want entrance through your Gate to the Vale of the Dreamers. I gave you the necklace, so you must give me entrance.”
“Must? I must do nothing!” He shuffled a step or two away, stroking the jewelry. “So pretty,” he cooed. “Shiny, and so pretty.”
All right, that’s it.
Anger hit me, obliterating fear and perhaps common sense. I made a motion as if to snatch the necklace away.
“Fine! Then I’ll take this back. If you won’t uphold your end of the bargain, I certainly don’t have to keep mine.”
“No, no!” he squealed, jumping aside. “Mustn’t touch my pretty. Mustn’t take the Gatekeeper’s shiny pretty. You wouldn’t, would you? Here, I will open the Gate. You may enter, just do not take my pretty necklace!”
“I won’t take it,” I said sternly, “but only if you open the Gate of Despair right now. If you don’t, you forfeit the necklace. Forever.”
“Will not forfeit, will not forfeit,” he whined.
Stuffing the jewelry inside the front of his tattered robe, he hobbled clumsily to do my bidding. I stood with my arms folded tightly across my chest, trying to appear stern, confident, and in control. I’d once heard that half of being genuinely in control is simply looking like it. Becoming the Artan was teaching me many important lessons in leadership, and this was definitely one of them.
Following the near loss of his pretty, the Gatekeeper wasn’t about to challenge me. He scuttled right over to the huge entrance and placed a hand spread-eagle on its
polished surface. At his touch, the entryway slid soundlessly open. I didn’t hesitate, not wanting to give my confident façade a chance to slip. I pressed past him, careful not to touch him or his robe, and entered the Underworld through the towering Gate of Despair.
Grotto of Crystal Life
Flickering torches set in stone sconces carved from the rough walls of the tunnel itself cast weird shadows all about me. For an instant, I was transported back in time to another world, another cave: the entrance to Aureeyah’s vale and the fear those dancing shadows had provoked. The terror but also the relief Ilgard’s mere presence had provided. Even then, despite thoroughly disliking the man, I’d trusted him on some basic level.
So when had it all changed? Then? When he’d killed Jonase? The first kiss, despite being stolen? Seeing him at Laytrii after so long and when I’d needed him so desperately? The second kiss?
Shaking my head, I began creeping slowly forward, admitting to myself I couldn’t pin down when my feelings towards the Simathe High-Chief had begun to change. Rather, love—if that’s what it was—had come silently, stealing in, growing on me, chipping away any harder feelings.
I have to tell him. Someday, when the time is right, I have to tell him. He may think I’m crazy, and he may reject me, but what good is love if it isn’t shared?
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