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

by Sarah Ashwood

  With one hand she gripped her ship’s wooden wheel, its surface worn smooth by her own palms and those of her First Sailor, Golden Blade, as they steered it through river and sea. Not for guidance purposes did she grip it this time but for encouragement. The damp wood was comforting, familiar to every line of her palm. Her ship, The Sea Serpent, was her life as surely as her soldmey, Golden Eyes. She drew strength from them both.

  Despite the tension in her chest, the First Captainess allowed herself a small smile as she thought of her two loves, her ship and her husband.

  She was a maid of sixteen summers when she first met Golden Eyes at a summer festival and had recognized him as her soldmey, the man whose being was the other half of her own. Two years later, she had piloted her first ship as a Second Sailor under the command of Silver Nail, a hardened First Captain every bit as sharp as his name’s emblem. He’d been a First Captain over thirty years but had never taken an apprentice. However, something in the young Silver Rose captured his fancy, and he brought her on board as his Second Sailor for four year’s tutelage, after which time she would be eligible to pilot her own ship… providing her seamaster (the one apprenticing her) agreed. Which Silver Nail had.

  Despite the First Captain’s habitual cursing, the virulence of which could burn the ears of sailors many years at sea, he was the best teacher Silver Rose could have had. Having never married, Silver Nail declared the sea his soldmey and his own ship, Moonfall, his lover. He tried mightily to steer his young apprentice in the same course.

  Unfortunately for him, Silver Rose’s heart was already smitten. She loved the sea, loved Golden Eyes, and wanted them both. And when she walked proudly off the deck of Moonfall, Silver Nail’s written proclamation of her worthiness to be a Captainess rolled up and tucked firmly under her arm, her family had been at the docks, waiting. As had Golden Eyes.

  Pulling her against him, he had kissed her boldly and publically—uncaring of the presence of her family, the Galandorf Captainess now recalled fondly. During the years she’d spent at sea, he had trained to handle the business end of owning one’s own ship, as well as in skills of war, that he might direct their sailors in battle, leaving her free to manage their vessel.

  Three weeks to the day of departing Moonfall, she had stood with trembling legs on the deck of her own ship, The Sea Serpent, to marry him. Her father had ordered the ship built for her during her days of training with Silver Nail, but within three years she had repaid every coin he’d spent.

  These days, she and Golden Eyes owned The Sea Serpent outright and managed to turn quite a tidy profit with it. Silver Rose loved her vessel every bit as much now as she had while standing on deck as its First Captainess upon its maiden voyage, watching Tacstri’s shoreline vanish into the mist. She loved Golden Eyes, her soldmey, even more than she had as a young bride, spending nights with her new husband in the Captain’s quarters of her own ship.

  Our own ship, she amended. They owned it together.

  A cool ocean breeze touched her face, playfully ruffling her scarlet-streaked hair.

  How could any woman be so lucky? she wondered, as she felt her husband come up behind her and brush a kiss across the column of her exposed neck. A soldmey, a ship, a life on the sea. We found the Artan. We fight for her, alongside other Aerisians. For so long we made war upon each another, but now we clasp hands and link fleets. Surely this woman will be Aerisia’s triumph. Surely she is already, having united this land and its peoples.

  In fact, there had been scant warring by sea these past few days. Silver Rose was grateful for this on the one hand, but on the other… Well, fighting ran through her veins, like it did every other Galandorf. With little action, she and her sailors were becoming restless, anxious for something to happen. They chafed at restraint, and the problem was worsened by hearing the land battles that had raged for two solid days.

  Perhaps today, the First Captainess thought. Perhaps today the Galandorf will be able to show what we are made of. Perhaps today we’ll fight for the Artan, for Aerisia, and for Tacstri, our island home.

  Tacstri…

  She had not seen the Galandorf home island for several months. Nor her two children, who remained behind with homekeepers: those not called to sea or ship or the life of a warrior but to a domestic existence on land, fulfilling such roles as keeping the children of Galandorf seamen while they were abroad.

  As she thought of her children, Silver Rose considered the new life she was almost certain she harbored in her belly. She had not told Golden Eyes her suspicions. After this day, she would.

  Golden Eyes’ arm about her waist suddenly stiffened. Immediately, the First Captainess came alert.

  “What is it?” she asked her husband.

  “I am hearing… the beat of waves against a ship. Many ships.”

  In the darkness, Silver Rose frowned. Even though she heard nothing except the slap of water against her own vessel, she knew better than to challenge her husband’s hearing or judgment. Too often she had found both reliable in times such as this. She pulled away reluctantly from the comfort of his warm body.

  “Have the crew stand by,” she said softly, and her husband slipped into the night to do her bidding.

  With sure hands she checked the sword at her waist, the dagger in her boot, the blades up her sleeves. Today? No, not today. It appeared now was the testing time. Now. This very hour. Once more she gripped the solid wood of the ship’s wheel—this time with both hands.

  “Powers of Good, strengthen us, I beg you.”

  She inhaled deeply, calming her heart. All was as expected. Finally, battle had come to the Galandorf, and the Galandorf would fight.

  Ilgard met his Chief Captain and Moonkind Risean at one of the city gates. The Tredsday was clearly vexed. In his Chief Captain, Ilgard sensed unease. Something had happened. The old Moonkind launched into it posthaste.

  “Their dead are gone.”

  The Simathe High-Chief stopped short. “Gone?”

  Risean nodded. “Gone. Entirely. Not one left.”

  With a curt nod, Norband affirmed the old man’s words.

  Shouldering between them, Ilgard headed for the stairs leading atop the city walls. Taking them two at a time, he dashed out onto the broad parapet. When he looked down, surveying the ravaged landscape over which the men and Cortain of Aerisia had battled these past few days, he ascertained what his subordinates had said to be true.

  Not one enemy dead was to be seen. No Cistweigh, deathcat, man, Doinum, or any other creature. Only the corpses of the Warkin, moldering on yonder hilltop, attested to the fact that the enemy had even lost any combatants. Furthermore, the Simathe lord reasoned, these had been slain by the power of the Artan, not Aerisia’s armies.

  What did it mean?

  Something ill approached. Something evil foreboded. They needed her: they needed the Artan. Was it not for this very time that she had appeared? Had been born?

  Descending the wall, Ilgard returned to the place where the two men had met him with their strange tidings. Lady Tey, the Cortain Pronconcil, had joined them, along with Sween Wis’ Randsom, another Cortain leader. The Tearkin prince was also there, towering above the rest, even Ilgard himself. By the expressions on their faces, Ilgard knew they had heard. Only Sween’s face was alight with a dismal sort of hope, saying she hoped beyond all reason that he would bring back a negative report to that which Risean and Norband had given.

  Would to all the Powers of Good that he could.

  At the taut set of his jaw, whatever hope had brightened the Cortain’s features swiftly died. She was no fool; she could read at a glance what he had seen, and foolish hopes were no part of the warrior’s life. Hope had to be replaced with action, determination, and courage, or a warrior would not long be a warrior. This woman was. The others were as well, even the old Moonkind in his own way and despite his pacifist beliefs.

  Lady Tey asked the only sensible question. Softly, she said, “What do we do?”

 
Ilgard stared at her, seeing clearly despite the half-light how her beautiful face was scratched and dirty. She was worn, weary. They all were. But there was no help for it.

  “We fight,” he stated simply. “With all that we have, against whatever they bring. We fight for her, for ourselves, for Aerisia.”

  For her. For the Artan.

  This was the last fight; they all knew it. Moreover, they also knew unless a miracle occurred, none of them besides the Simathe would live out this day. A miracle—the kind of miracle only the Artan could bring. Small chance of that when she lay dying, unable to affect the war’s outcome.

  In her name, then, they would make their final stand.

  Restoration

  Someone was calling me. Not audibly—I couldn’t hear it with my ears. No, the call came from within. A relentless force cried out to me, tugging mind, soul, and life away from the edge of the pit. A woman’s gentle voice repeated my name over and over again. Magic heaved at my spirit like the pull of the tide against the shore. Pain and light bore down with frightening intensity. My body was bathed in flame then snow. Life filled me. With a gasp, I awoke.

  Aureeyah and Aemela were both there, bending over me, their faces shining with equal measures of hope and fear. Aureeyah grasped my hand.

  “You’ve awakened! We thought you were too far gone!”

  “I was,” I admitted, laboring to push myself upright. “But something called me back. A woman’s voice, and a tugging at whatever magic I’ve got left.” I looked at the two fairies. “Was it you?”

  “It was not us. You were too far spent for even our powers to reach.”

  “Aye,” Aemela confirmed. “Lady Hannah, you were—”

  “I know,” I said quietly. Dead. Or as close to it as someone can be without actually dying. Something, someone, had brought me back. What, or who?

  Unassisted, I climbed off the bed and stood on my own feet. I felt weightless, as if the nightgown I wore was the only thing holding me down. If I lifted my arms I could fly. If I took off, I would soar.

  But that was ridiculous. My brain knew that my body was drained and broken, my spirit lost. I should be dead, it cautioned. This strange strength wasn’t mine; I didn’t have any of my own. Despite this harsh truth, I felt the magic. It was like riding a bubble of borrowed strength and vitality. I could think more clearly than ever before, and my senses were also heightened. The light was sharper, the air brisker. Smells were more prominent and colors more vibrant. Should this bubble burst, I would die. However, for now, I was safe. And although I didn’t understand what was happening, I knew why it was.

  Uncle Risean had been right all along. I was the Artan, and prophecy was not going to be broken. I had to stand in the last battle. I had to fight. Already, from outside the city walls I could hear the din of battle. I knew this was my time to join in. Everything hinged on this moment.

  “Hannah, you will go.”

  I turned to face Aureeyah. She knew that I would. She knew as surely as I did that prophecy was fulfilling itself, right now.

  “Yes,” I replied. “I’ll go.”

  She stepped closer. “Then allow Aemela and me to share our power with you. Let the fairies also be a part of this day’s victory.”

  This day’s victory…

  Already she assumed I would win.

  I extended my hands to the fairies, and they each grasped one within their own. Their auras began to glow so brightly I either had to look away or be blinded. I shut my eyes, but I could still feel the magic flowing from my friends. Not into me—my body was too depleted for that—but into the strange bubble that buoyed me up.

  Finally, the flow stopped, and our hands fell apart.

  A soft knock sounded at the door, followed by Lady Alvana Wis’ Callen entering the room. Seeing me up and on my feet, she gasped. Then, to my everlasting shock, she fell to her knees, pressing her face into the pattern of swirling roses decorating the marble floor.

  “You shine, Hannah. The light lives within you.” Aemela answered my unasked question concerning the noblewoman’s strange behavior.

  Aureeyah went to the woman, stooped, and pulled her up. Bending, she whispered something in the little woman’s ear, who replied with a quick smile, a bob of the head, and a shaky curtsey. With a nervous, backwards glance at me, she fled the room.

  “Do I really look that strange?”

  I went to the mirror to see for myself. However, a shaft of early morning light seemed to be slanting directly across the glass, the smooth surface of which reflected it back in such a way that I couldn’t make out a thing. Frowning, I tried to shade the glass so I could see my face. It didn’t work. All the mirror would reflect was light.

  Stunned, I turned to face my friends, understanding now what Aemela had meant by saying, The light lives within you, and why Lady Alvana had reacted to me as she had…

  A few minutes later, two servants arrived bearing a large, wooden trunk made of the same peculiar blue wood as the Moonkind’s staffs and bound with glowing white brass. The lock on the hasp was shaped into a half-moon. Lady Alvana entered behind them. Withdrawing a key from her belt, she slipped it into the trunk’s strange lock and twisted. I heard a click, and the trunk was open.

  “My lady.”

  She stepped aside, motioning me forward. I complied, kneeling before the box and raising it heavy lid. Nestled inside was a meticulously folded gown of purest white, which I lifted out reverently. Beneath the gown was an ornate silver breastplate, meant for a woman, and elegantly decorated with etchings of mystical beasts. The Portex’s wife took the dress from me, while Aureeyah lifted out the breastplate and back piece.

  “A gift of Moonkind magic and Spinner skills,” she explained.

  Nestled at the bottom of the chest was an object swathed in thick red velvet. I smiled at the sight, remembering the first time I’d seen it and how it had been wrapped in the same piece of cloth.

  “Laytrii’s sword,” I said, and my appreciation could be heard in my voice.

  Encouragement

  With the help of the Portex’s wife, I was soon dressed. Laytrii’s sword was buckled onto my hip, and the necklace of the Artan, which I hadn’t been without since practically day one of my arrival in Aerisia, was slipped beneath the breastplate. When I looked once more in the mirror, I noted that, if anything, the light enveloping me had grown brighter.

  This is it, I realized solemnly. This is my time. It was for today I was born another world, another lifetime ago. It was for this day the past decades shaped themselves.

  The idea was so profound, so powerful, my head swam. To calm myself, I closed my eyes, flexed my fingers, and drew a deep breath.

  I am the Artan. I didn’t choose this path, but I have to walk it. Please allow whatever power is sustaining me right now last until the job is done. I can’t let my people down. I want to live these next few minutes like I was meant to live them, and if I have to die, let me die a good death. Don’t let me be afraid.

  When I opened my eyes, my friends were there. I wondered if they’d speak, offer some encouragement or advice, but maybe they felt there was nothing left to say. One by one they came forward to embrace me. One by one they slipped silently from the room. I stayed put, allowing myself a few moments alone to make certain I was really ready. Then, wiping away the solitary tear that had rolled halfway down my cheek, I squared my shoulders and walked out of the door.

  Down the broad central staircase I marched, into the main hall with its massive crystal chandelier, and out of the wide front door which the Portex’s steward hurried to open for me. Outside the main entrance, a beautiful horse waited. He was tall and white. Muscles rippled under the skin of his broad chest, and his long tail nearly brushed the ground. For all that, when I approached him his large, dark eyes were gentle, and he didn’t shy from the strange apparition plainly intending to get up on his back.

  Lady Alvana herself held the reins. Her former nervousness was gone, but I noticed she kept her gaze
partially averted. The brilliance of that strange light, I presumed. She stroked the animal’s muzzle affectionately.

  “Lovely, is he not? They brought him here to my stables. He was meant for you all along, but we… well, none of us thought you would live to make use of him. Obviously the Powers had another plan in mind,” she smiled.

  With that, I realized she still didn’t understand.

  She doesn’t get it. She thinks I’m healed. Maybe they all do. Maybe nobody besides me knows the truth.

  For the first time since awakening, I detected a growing fear. At the thought of death, my stomach clenched. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I seized the saddle horn, hoping to hide the trembling of my hands.

  I don’t want to die!

  Sheer panic clawed at my throat. The sounds of pitched battle could be heard even better out here in the courtyard. With my sharpened senses, I could smell the blood.

  “My lady?” The Portex’s wife noticed something was going wrong. A comforting hand laid itself on my back. “My lady? Are you well?”

  With great effort, I let go of the saddle and turned to face her. I shouldn’t have said it, I suppose, but she was the closest thing to a friend I had with me.

  “I can’t do it. I’m scared.”

  Her eyes widened, shock suffusing her features. I guess she didn’t think the Artan was subject to normal emotions like fear. Regaining control, she reached up to clasp my shoulders with both hands.

  “My lady,” she said, “you would not be human if you felt no fright at the task before you. Nevertheless, you are not merely human, you are the Artan—you are destined to succeed where others have failed. You will do this because you must, because you can. Let not fear turn this great gift, this miraculous healing, to shame. Let not selfishness or cowardice cause you to hesitate when your soldiers are fighting and dying for you even now. Have fought and died for you.”

  I wanted to shout at her. Selfishness? Cowardice? How could she say that to me when it was I who was going into battle and she who’d remain behind city walls?