Leaving Eden

by Kelly A Walker et al.

  First Edition, 2019

  Copyright ©2019 by Kelly A Walker, Serena Lindahl, Lexie Winston, Emma Cole, Kandi Vale, Lucy Roy, and Petra J Knox

  No part of this anthology may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors rights. Thank you for respecting our work.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Pride

  Dream My Way

  Envy

  Death Dealers

  Glorious Gluttony

  The Irony of Lust

  Greed

  DEDICATION

  Dedicated to friendship. Finding one’s tribe is priceless.

  PRIDE

  By Petra J. Knox

  PRIDE

  Pride: In regard to sin, it is the belief that one is above the bounds set for humans, leading to a disconnect between the proud and their maker. The result is the absence of compassion, connection, and love.

  1

  LYRA

  We are rarely proud when we are alone. ~ Voltaire

  “Forgive me, Prima La’Na, but did you say the Wildlands?” My hands were folded respectfully in front of me as I stood before my superior. Certainly, I’d heard her wrong. It had been over fifty years since a Sarian had even breathed the air of the Wildlands, let alone visited the barren territory.

  “Yes, La’Na Lyra, the Wildlands. You will go first thing in the morning. I will allow you a horse, provisions have already been arranged, and I’ve assigned La’Na Trea and La’Na Sherone to take over your duties in your absence.”

  Blinking, I looked at my Prima. Wise and beautiful, sitting gracefully in her tall, winged-back chair with the morning sun highlighting the silver strands in her chestnut locks. She had been Prima all my life, and even though my mother and I were close, it was the Prima who I always wanted to make proud.

  She put down her teacup and smiled. “La’Na Lyra, you are fully prepared for this mission. You are one of my best initiates; trained, poised, and smarter than a whip, yet you blink at me like an owl. I have complete faith in you. You will do this and do it well. I expect nothing less, my child.”

  The words sputtered out of me, “But, Prima, surely—”

  She raised an aged hand. “You are young, barely five and twenty. Do you not crave an adventure?” She paused, seeming to consider her words. “Well, perhaps not. But I know your mind. This is a chance to study a people that we barely have a record of. Offering Sarian aid and from our best in the Order? Think of the knowledge to be had, my dear.”

  Knowledge. Yes, there was that.

  “Well, I will admit my curiosity is piqued.” I nodded in agreement, looking inward for a moment before focusing once more on the task at hand—convincing my Prima that this was a fool’s errand. “But these people, this tribe… the Forus, they are a barbaric people, Prima La’Na. Who knows what type of archaic remedies they’ve been giving these sick children…”

  “Which will not hinder healing in the least, as you well know.” She waved her hand at my lame excuse. “Do you not trust my judgment? Do you think you are not right for this mission, that you are not up to such a task?” She smirked.

  I made a face, pursing my lips. “Of course I am up for the task. Aside from you, Prima, no one in the Sarian Order is my equal.”

  Prima La’Na laughed and took out a sheet of parchment from her desk, then dipped her quill in the inkwell and made a small note. “Ah. The arrogance of youth and a fine mind. Here. You will need this.” She deftly sprinkled sand on paper, folded it, then sealed the parchment with wax. “Get you gone, girl. I shall see you when you return.”

  Taking the letter in hand, I lowered my head. “Thank you, La’Na Prima. I shall do my best to serve the Sarian Order and the Realm of Tarian.”

  And I would. No primitive Wildland folk would deter me from doing what needed to be done. Not to mention, an ailment that was defying a people who had kept to themselves for over a century. A sickness that required the expertise of a Sarian. My Prima was right—this was the chance of a lifetime for our Order. I would make them proud, let them know that La’Na Lyra was the chosen initiate of our Prima for a reason.

  My thoughts danced as I pictured my return; the tomes I would fill with my writings on the Wildlands. The accolades, the experience. Yes, the Prima was wise to assign me this mission.

  If only I didn’t have to ride a horse.

  THE JOURNEY TOOK seven long days. What should have been an easy trek turned into misery after day two. The rains that usually drenched the western border of the Realm had apparently arrived a month early. I loved a good storm, but riding astride a horse, wet, with never a chance of being dry ever again, tested my resolve. Every few miles, I threatened to turn around. But my pride would not allow me. I was better than this. Water couldn’t hurt me. That didn’t mean I couldn’t curse the gods above while I weathered the incessant pounding of rain on my back.

  DAY FIVE, the humidity set in.

  USED to the cooler clime of Eden, the temple that housed the Sarian Order, I was ill prepared for the steam-house air that, combined with the now drizzling rain, made me never want to bathe ever again. To get my mind off my discomfort, I ran over the various cultures of the Forus people—their gods, their dialect, their rites. Not much was known, but what was, showed a people very different than my own in the Realm. Primitive and lacking in innovation. I had to admit, my curiosity was winning over my reservations in coming here.

  ASIDE FROM THE constant state of being wet, my equine companion and I did the best we could in finding dry places to camp, mostly under thick pine boughs. The tall trees were enormous, and I longed for a sketchbook to capture their likeness. Thankfully, my memory was superb, able to recollect even the minutest of elements in a scene. I was certain someone in the order would be interested in the flora and fauna of life in the wild.

  EVENTUALLY, I made it to the wood clearing, the border of the Wildlands. Dubbed so by some deceased Magister of Land around one hundred years ago, the land was reported by scholars to be populated by the Old Folk—and dissident Realm barbarians. Modern Realm citizens, however, claimed the land was full of thieves and witches, criminals and cast-offs, that it was unforgiving and uncivilized.

  I EYED the meadow that delineated the boundary of that wild land. A wall of rocky cliffs and driftwood bordered the flowery plain and seemed to shout, “stay away.”

  LUCKILY, I had just changed into dry clothes and braided my hair not ten minutes earlier, having saved my parame robe for my arrival. The thin linen of the sky-blue material draped like a cloud over my healer’s sheath. Without a mirror, I couldn’t check to see if my face was dirty or if my golden tresses were smoothed—with this humidity, I severely doubted it—but I would do. After all, I was here to serve as a Sarian, a priestess of Gana, a healer in the arts of Parame.

  BEFORE GUIDING THE HORSE FORWARD, I took a deep breath and sent a quick prayer to Gana for patience, hoping this visit would be successful. And brief.

  2

  ADON

  “Tymus, find out what in Dovia’s name is taking my advisor so long. I’ve been waiting here for over an hour.” I glanced up from my ledger of ever-growing numerals that were gathering in the negative each time I looked at them. We were running out of every provision, material, and livestock. I really didn’t want to break into our winter stores yet, but it looked like I was going to have
to do just that. Soon.

  “I’m sorry, sire, but he is unavailable.” The short, older man paused with a wince. “I mentioned it when I came in, Forus Adon.”

  Of course he’d mentioned it. In my sleepless state of mind, I had just forgotten.

  My gaze went to the open window where the gentle morning breeze rustled the scrolls in front of me. The day had already started, and yet it felt like it would never end. For a moment, I just watched as my people went to and fro, carrying baskets of laundry and buckets of water. No laughter, no smiles. Just silent determination. Forus Trotas was usually a quiet village, but not like this. Seeing it so dull and without life was eating at my control.

  For the past forty days, nothing but more bad news. By the time I would finish breakfast, dressed and ready to go about my duties, I had at least a hundred things to do, and the bad news just kept coming.

  Something needed to be done.

  I turned to look at my aide and rubbed the back of my neck, thinking. “Well, let’s go to him, then. And grab Jonah. Meet me out front, Tymus.”

  When he left, I walked over to the smaller desk near the wall. I grabbed the key to the stores from Advisor Cant’s drawer, including paper and quill, and made my way outside.

  “Adon, everything alright?” Jonah, my second in command, asked. I hadn’t seen him since last night. Jonah’s healing skills were needed more and more, and by the looks of him, he’d been up all night using them.

  I met his brown eyes after studying the circles under them. “You look like shit warmed over, brother.”

  I heard Tymus cough nearby. Jonah rolled his eyes. “Good morning to you too, Adon. So where are we headed?”

  “Tymus said the Advisor’s been hit. I’m on my way to visit him.” No words needed to convey my fear as I silently let my friend and loyal Second see my worry.

  He nodded solemnly. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

  As we walked, I thought about the strange illness that had befallen my people. It hadn’t been the first time I’d cursed the gods in frustration as I went through every possible connection this illness could lead to. Trying to find an answer, any clue. Age wasn’t at play—both young and old were coming down with this sickness. No source had been found, no food or drink. Not a damn thing I could point at and blame, fix, burn, or destroy. Only more questions.

  “The Prima of the Realm of Tarian sent word yesterday that we should be expecting a Sarian soon. Hopefully we won’t have to wait too long, Adon,” Jonah, always the optimist, reminded me. I had a feeling he was counting the grains of sand in his time glass for this famed Sarian’s arrival. Jonah had always been curious about the Parame Arts and the Sarian Order.

  “Yes, there’s that,” I grunted. “At least I did something right in calling for aid. Those tight-ass, judgmental people across the Rock should be good for something.”

  Tymus, following behind us, coughed again.

  I looked over my shoulder and handed him the quill and paper. “You sure have been coughing a lot, Ender Tymus. I hope you’re not coming down with something. I need an inventory list.” I turned back around and grinned. “Jonah, have a look at him when we get back. Just to be sure.”

  Jonah laughed, and the sound reminded me of the absence of laughter these past few weeks. I tensed my jaw and sent a prayer up to Dovia, my steps quickening.

  Yes, something had to be done and fast.

  SILVA, Advisor Cant’s woman, greeted us at their small hut. Humble and sweet, right now she looked much older than her sixty years. Exhaustion and worry had aged her another twenty.

  “Forus Adon, thank you for coming. Since I sent the message to the tabernacle, he’s gotten worse, I’m afraid. What can we do, sire?” Her eyes were wet as they met mine intently.

  I patted her shoulder. “We’re going to do everything we can. I won’t take up much of your time, I just wanted to visit.”

  “Of course, sire.” She pulled the door further open, beckoning us in. The room was dark and warm, and the scent of mint and lemon filled my nose. There on the bed roll, under a thick blanket, lay my advisor. I quickly went to him, kneeling at his side.

  “Cant, you old dog. Had you wanted time off, I would have given you at least a day or two to be with your woman.” My lips twitched in humor, but my eyes traced his pale face, taking into account the dullness of his eyes, the slow but shallow rise of his chest. The illness was, indeed, hitting him fast.

  “Sire, Adon, my apologies for not being—” Cant started to say, but I wasn’t having any of it. I put up my hand.

  “No need for all that. You get some rest. Jonah here is going to have a look at you, and then we’ll be off. You will do everything he says, Cant.” I gave him a stern look, knowing my green eyes were boring into his watery blue ones.

  He managed a weak smile. “Yes, sire.”

  I nodded and patted his shoulder, then stood and walked over to the end of the bed as Jonah began his examination. With my arms folded, I quietly murmured to Tymus, who stood beside me, and told him to make a quick stop to our stores for some food for Silva before doing anything else. I was certain she and Cant were as low as everyone else in the village. Which reminded me of my ledgers and all the millions of things I needed to get done this day.

  “I’ll get ri—” Tymus cut off as the hut’s door opened.

  An enthusiastic Simon, one of the village guards, stood there, blinking his eyes, trying to make us out in the darkened room, no doubt.

  “Forus Adon, the Sarian has been sighted!”

  Thank you, Dovia. Maybe now this all will end.

  3

  LYRA

  It had to have been an hour since I crossed the border into the Wildlands. The rocky landscape had changed from stone to grass pretty quickly as I traveled ever-west. No sign of life to be found, not even an animal. I was just about to wonder how long I’d have yet to travel, when I rode under a fan of tall trees, only to pull back roughly on the reins. My mount reared back as I squeezed my legs tightly around his girth and held on for dear life.

  A blur of color was all I saw before a cloud of dust and leaves exploded into the air.

  What in the Mother’s name?

  Once the dust settled, I tried to make out the creature who was standing in our way, tall and imposing, and very male. Instantly, my cheeks heated, and I turned my head away on instinct before coming to my senses.

  It’s simply a man, Lyra, not some creature from a child’s tale.

  I turned his way again, keeping my eyes only on his face. Yes, the man was naked. But I was a healer of Gana. A naked man should not, no matter how well-endowed or shapely his physique, have any bearing on my ability to have a rational conversation. I cleared my parched throat and eased off the reins, sitting tall in my seat.

  “I am seeking Adon of Head Foros. He is expecting me, so I suggest you take me to him at once.” My voice held no question of my authority, so when the man laughed—almost heartily, to my annoyed chagrin—I was at a loss as to what the protocol was for such a response.

  When no answer came, I sighed. “Excuse me, do you not speak the common tongue? Arligian? Terrish?” I asked, switching to the various languages this barbarian was perhaps familiar with. I wrinkled my brow. Prima La’Na didn’t mention anything about a language barrier.

  The man finally stopped laughing and looked me over head to foot, lingering on my breasts, but no words—or comprehension—were forthcoming.

  “Well?” I prompted, watching him a bit more intently now. A glint in his moss-green eyes caused a funny reaction in my stomach. The look made me feel like I was the one without clothing on. It bothered me more than his nakedness and laughter.

  Until his words blew them all out of the water.

  “My, what’s up your ass?” His voice was deep and surprisingly smooth for such a jackass of a man.

  I slowly nodded as if conversing with a child. “I don’t believe anyone has ever said such an appalling thing to me. I’m going to put it down to a cult
ural difference. Now, can you or can you not take me to Forus Adon?” My eyes roamed around the area, wondering if maybe this man was a scout. Were there more hiding in the trees? Or was he alone? I looked back at the man, noticing how close in age he was to me. I frowned.

  A throaty sound, much like a grunt, came from his full mouth. My eyes immediately homed in on those lips.

  “Oh to be sure, I can, woman. But are you sure you don’t want to turn back? You look mighty uncomfortable up there on that high seat.”

  Not dignifying that with an answer, I asked instead, “Why are you naked, anyway? Do your people have something against clothing?”

  He shook his head and mumbled something under his breath. “Come on, woman. Let’s take you to the tabernacle.” He turned around and started walking.

  Finally. It was the smartest thing he’d said yet.

  My mount and I followed along at a lazy pace through the sparse forest. I tried to engage the primitive male—my eyes cast on anything but his behind—but he either ignored me or sped up. After a good twenty minutes, we entered a clearing. At least fifty good-sized huts made of mud and pine dotted the perimeter, and behind those, more spread further. In the middle stood a large building made of stone and wood, several stories high, with flowery vines gripping lattice-style walls. It was charming, almost. Not at all what I expected from a Wildland village.

  My nude guide stopped at the entrance to the tall building and turned to me, his arm extended in a mocking flourish. “The tabernacle.” Then, to my astonishment, he walked away, heading toward the huts, leaving me sitting on my horse.

  “Well, then.” I sighed and dismounted, stretching the aches from my bottom and legs as soon as my feet touched the ground. I looked around for anyone to take my horse, but the place was completely empty. Even the naked man was far gone now. I shrugged, grabbed one of my saddle bags, and tied the reins to a trellis near the entrance.