by Jaci Miller
Pulling out her father’s compass she checked her bearings and then headed south toward where she had seen the moons hovering in the sky last night. She had no sense of time as her watch still ticked unnaturally slow only minutes passing through the entire night. It was extremely unnerving, so she made the decision to take it off, tucking it away in one of the pockets of her jacket. She needed to exist in Dywen’s time and truly immerse herself in this new environment, hopefully, it would reset her internal clock and force her to coexist with her natural instincts and awareness.
As she made her way through the thick forest, she took in all the smells, sights, and sounds, reveling in their vitality and their ability to intoxicate the senses. Her fingertips experienced subtle vibrations as they touched petals, leaves, and bark. She could feel the essence of this world pumping through her blood. Her senses were on fire as they were stretched to the brink by the ever-growing energy that seeped endlessly out of the surrounding environment, curiously aware of her presence.
As she continued down the small path she heard a faint sound echoing in the distance. Stopping, she waited and listened. The noise seemed to be coming from above the treetops. Moving quickly through the lush growth, she reached a spot where the sky was visible. The strange sound was closer now and she could make it out, a deep, powerful, musical sound that combined with a steady flapping. The sound grew in intensity as it neared the spot where she stood. Shielding her eyes from the bright sun she scanned the sky for the source.
Suddenly, a dark shadow came into view sailing gracefully through the sky above her. As it flew past, she could see that it was indeed a bird; a large black bird. The powerful bird dipped and curled through the bright blue sky, its grace and power on full display. The sheen of its sleek black feathers reflecting the sunlight causing a strange kaleidoscope of greens to arc out from the tips. The sound it made was also unique; it was not the typical frantic cawing of a seagull or crow but a calm, strong, and confident musical bellow.
She watched as the bird patrolled the sky dipping close to the ground and then soaring upward, its impressive wingspan adding grace to the bird’s movements. Eventually, the bird flew out of sight, the peace of the forest no longer disrupted by the bird’s vocalization. As she turned to continue down the forest path, she wondered about its sudden appearance. Since arriving on Dywen, she had noticed that there didn’t seem to be any living entities, at least none that she had seen. There were no insects or wildlife, making the appearance of this magnificent bird extremely unexpected, especially in a world that had apparently been void of all life forms for billions of centuries.
Finally, the dense forest began to thin. The large trees became smaller and the mossy carpet that spread across the forest floor morphed into a carpet of thick green grass, its dewy tips glistening in the late morning sunlight. The edge of the forest was just ahead and the two moons that hung in the sky were even larger and closer.
Cautiously, she emerged from the thick woods, feeling a curious stirring in the landscape around her as her energy invaded yet another part of this realm, arousing the primordial magic from its profound sleep.
Chapter 19
The warm scented air caressed her skin as she stood looking at the pure white crushed stone pathway that lay in front of her, winding its way toward the heart of the city. The stone sparkled in the midday sunshine, its purity flanked on either side by lush green lawns. The dazzling white of the stone path was a stark contrast to the harshness of the dark, aged metal of the city gates that it led to.
Dane could see the heavy gates not far from where she had emerged—a world of contradictions—she thought, acknowledging how powerful yet serene Dywen’s landscapes and atmosphere could be.
The city was surrounded by a high stone wall that seemingly went on indefinitely in both directions. Large trees lined the path on either side, their weeping foliage and whimsical limbs reaching gracefully for the ground below. Flowers sprung from the grassy green carpet creating a medley of bright colors and hues that dotted the terrain—the colors of Dywen unnaturally perfect.
An intoxicating aroma drifted past where she stood, making her senses tingle as a faint whisper rustled through the tree branches. Even with the distracting sounds of nature, she could still feel the eerie silence that emanated from inside the stone walls surrounding the abandoned city. This world had existed only for itself for centuries, its life force had disappeared long ago and thus its essence had dwindled, eventually becoming a solitary entity devoid of purpose. The longer she was in this world the stronger its pulse was getting, a delicate tug that pulled on her inner magic and rippled through her blood. The ancient magic encased in this world’s energy seemed curious about her yet hesitant, as it slowly observed this new presence that had unexpectedly appeared in its long-forgotten realm.
She moved cautiously onto the path and followed it toward the city gates. With each step, the whispering in the trees intensified and their limbs seemed to awaken, frantically stroking the ground, the breeze lifting their leaves in response.
The spires of the city buildings loomed high above the stone wall, the bright sun casting their shadows outward like long silent fingers. The heavy metal gate loomed just ahead, its dark iron creaked as she approached. She stopped when she reached the gate, feeling the strength of the dark metal pushing toward her. Two large doors stood menacingly in front of her, their cold thick iron temporarily stopping her progress. Lifting her hand, she placed it gently on the cool metal’s surface, studying the exterior with renewed interest. There were delicate carvings embedded in the iron facing, symbols, and lines that followed the grain of the metal. She recognized one—the Callan, or Callathian, family crest. She wondered if the etchings represented the families of those that resided in Dywen, a silent shrine, a memory of the past.
Removing her hand from the gate’s cool metal surface she reached for the large handle, pushing down firmly against ancient metal that had been unused for centuries. The handle resisted at first but eventually gave way to her pressure, groaning as it begrudgingly lifted the latch on the other side. She pushed on the right side of the gate struggling to move its massive bulk as it grated on its ancient hinges in resistance. It groaned awkwardly as she continued to push it open revealing Arcadium—the ancient, forgotten city of Dywen.
The moment she passed through the gates the whispering in the trees stopped, the city was silent, nothing stirred inside these walls. She gazed across the expansive courtyard that stretched before her feeling the weight of the eerie silence as it pressed down.
The centuries of neglect were apparent in the courtyard—grass had sprung up between the cracks of the cobblestones and the small saplings that encircled the courtyard wall sagged pathetically. A large fountain stood silently in the middle, its ancient stone pillars cracked and disintegrating with age. The water had dried up long ago and the copper taps were rusted and corroded covered in a flaky green patina. The stone buildings that surrounded the courtyard stood silently, their windows staring vacantly, long forgetting any memory of their past inhabitants. Some doors to the buildings were ajar, many were bolted shut, large ancient locks rusted and crumbling. She stood quietly, breathing in the stale air that lay heavy in the immediate area. She could not feel the pulse of Dywen inside these walls. Not even an echo of its past existed inside the city; it was as if this part of the world had extinguished long ago.
She moved across the courtyard toward a stone archway at the far end. It seemed to be the only way out of the circular courtyard other than the large gates she had entered through. The archway was connected to a large structure that resembled a church, its towering steeple extending proudly into the sky. As she reached the courtyard fountain she saw hundreds of coins lying forgotten at the bottom of its basin—wishes of long-departed inhabitants. The coins were large, much bigger than anything in the mortal world. She bent down to pick one up, careful not to dist
urb the silence that engulfed the village square. Flipping the coin from one side to the other she examined the piece carefully. The metal was discolored, tarnished from centuries of exposure to the elements, its surfaces dented, and edges chipped. The coin was thin and void of design on one side, the other displaying a small symbol—a cross emblazoned with a moon and intersecting a scythe. She placed the coin back on the fountain floor careful not to disturb the others.
Continuing toward the stoned archway she slowed as she passed the aging storefronts. Each had a small wooden sign hanging from a wrought iron post above the door. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, sure that she was in the heart of the city, a town square or market, perhaps. There was a magical herb shop, an apothecary that once sold tonics and potions, a blacksmith and weapon guild, an alchemist, and many other businesses that catered to the witches and warlocks that at one time inhabited this realm. The merchandise still displayed in the windows was covered with a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. Damp moss clung to the underside of the roof’s overhangs as unimpeded ivy crept haphazardly up many of the building’s exterior walls. She imagined that the inside of these small shops would be just as vacant and aged as their exteriors—a haunting indication of a lost past.
As she reached the massive stone archway, she felt a small tingle crawl up her spine and her skin prickled as she felt unseen eyes boring into the back of her head. In their gaze, she could sense curiosity and interest. Hesitating briefly, she slowly turned back around to the courtyard, scanning the area for any sign of someone watching her. As her eyes moved past the fountain, she saw it—the large black bird that she had seen patrolling the sky earlier. It was perched atop the middle pillar of the fountain, its brilliant green eyes trained on her unblinking, its head cocked curiously to the side. It stared for a few more seconds and then opened its large wings and flew gracefully upward, circling the courtyard once before disappearing into the distance. She watched the bird fly away, slightly unsettled by the way it had looked at her, seemingly sizing her up for unknown reasons.
Shaking off the eerie feeling she moved back to the stone archway.
The stone used to make the archway was different from the other stone located throughout the courtyard. It was a dull grey, marbled with black and white crystalized veins that cut unrefined patterns through its surface. The stone glistened in the sunlight as the tiny embedded fragments caught its rays. The top of the arch was carved with ancient symbols and runes, one of which Dane recognized as the mark of The Order—the dagger through the sphere. The archway led into a shadowy tunnel that stretched away from the courtyard and toward, she assumed, the area where the Warlician barracks were located.
The tunnel was cooler than the village square and a dank stench assaulted her nostrils as she entered, increasing in intensity the further from the tunnel opening she got. She had just enough natural light to make out the walls and the direction of the tunnel but decided to take out the flashlight before venturing in further. The beam flickered momentarily before illuminating the stone walls in a bright yellow glow. Water trickled slowly down the tunnel walls providing nourishment to the thick moss that clung to the stone. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling of the tunnel, swaying gently in what little breeze found its way into this dark corridor. She hurried through the tunnel, her footsteps echoing somewhere in the distance.
About a hundred feet in she came upon a small wrought iron gate blocking further access to the tunnel. It stood ajar, one of the metal anchors holding the left post was aged and rusted and had pulled slightly from the wall. A massive iron lock hung from one of the horizontal rails and it clanged against the metal as she pushed on the gate, opening it without too much resistance from the creaking metal hinges.
As she continued through the rest of the tunnel, she noticed the air was becoming less suffocating and the musty smell was receding. The walls were dry and there was no moss clinging desperately to their surfaces. Iron torch holders lined both sides of the tunnel walls here and as she moved passed them each magically lit, startling her. The flames from the torches cast a bright orange glow through the dark shadowy passageway, its light dancing merrily on the stone walls, adding much-needed warmth to the damp, dim space.
She grazed her fingertips along the wall stopping as she felt a vibration ripple through the cool stones. The world here was not silent like in the courtyard, the energy trapped within these stone walls was alive and curiously taking notice of her presence.
The end of the tunnel finally came into view as bright sunlight spilled into the dark space ahead. Squinting as she exited the tunnel, she stood for a moment allowing her eyes to adjust to the glare before surveying her surroundings.
The tunnel had opened into another courtyard, this one much larger than the town square. There were no trees, or decorative monuments, just an expansive stone patio that fronted a metal and stone fence. Located at intervals throughout the courtyard were iron and stone pits, in each a fire burned. At the back of the courtyard, the metal and stone fence flanked a series of wide steps and landings that led up to a huge stone building surrounded by square guard towers—a military-style encampment. Knowing she had found the barracks she crossed the courtyard, quickly ascending the stone stairs to the first landing, where a small stone outbuilding stood vacant. Hurrying past she continued upward toward the barracks.
Halfway up the second set of steps, she slowed as a warning ignited chills across her skin. Her senses reacting to a strange energy invading the space directly behind her. Recognizing a possible danger, she stopped, allowing her senses to engage with whatever it was that now stood feet away. The energy behind her was different from anything she had felt before. It was strong, balanced, and calm yet she could feel how it pulsed with anticipation and curiosity. There was something distinct about it, a raw intensity born from power and confidence. She took a deep breath, calming her nerves and preparing herself to face whatever it was that had snuck up behind her.
Chapter 20
Turning slowly, Dane was surprised to find the tip of a long thick blade pointing directly at her. The blade, held steady by its possessor, was inches from her throat, the razor-sharp edge shone menacingly in the sunlight. She took another deep breath before she allowed her eyes to travel slowly down the length of the glinting steel.
The blade was etched through its center with a row of Celtic trinity knots. The hilt was solid metal, the guard intricately carved, the grip wrapped with thick black leather, and held steadfast by a strong tanned hand. She steadied her breathing before lifting her eyes to the face of the man that held the blade’s tip precariously to her throat.
There, standing a few steps below her was the most striking individual she had ever seen. His tanned face was smooth, his square jaw covered with a faint shadow of stubble. His flashing green eyes held an intensity that made her shiver as he stared directly at her, his eyes never wavering from her own. He was dressed all in black—a sleeveless shirt the only item on his torso other than the breastplate. It was adorned with a silver medallion displaying the symbol of The Order worn by the Warlician warriors. Unlike Sebastian, he wore no cloak and his attire was dusty and worn. The belt that encircled his waist and held his sword’s sheath was a thick black leather, adorned with small metal pieces. His black pants were tucked into tall leather boots that were scuffed and faded. Another black sheath was strapped to his thigh where the hilt of a silver knife wrapped with braided black leather was visible. His strong muscular arms were tattooed in multiple places, intricately detailed artwork dissecting his tanned skin.
Her heart jumped as her eyes fell on a tattoo located on the inside of his forearm. She had seen that tattoo before, it was in her dream last night. It was the Celtic cross!
Stunned, her eyes moved back up to meet his unwavering gaze, his green eyes flashing from intensity to interest as he held the stare of the stranger that stood before him. She could feel his confused energy a
t her presence, but his face did not betray him, his strong jaw remained clenched with determination, the sword never wavering as he held the tip firmly against her skin.
A slight breeze moved past where they stood, ruffling his long dark hair. The small braids woven at his temples swayed slightly, the black leather that tied their ends colliding into one another as they did.
Minutes passed as she waited for the man to say something as he stood quietly holding the sword steady, its sharp blade trained on her throat. Unsure of whether to speak she decided to smile instead. As she pulled her face into an awkward grin, the man’s grip tightened on the sword, shifting his weight onto his back leg as his brow furrowed into a scowl.
“My name is Dane,” she blurted out causing the stranger to press the tip of his sword firmly into the flesh of her neck, the cold steel digging into her skin. She winced at the stinging pressure, growing anxious as her instincts intensified their warning of danger. Slowly, she lifted her hands in surrender and to show him she meant him no harm. He pulled back the blade slightly, careful not to take his eyes from hers.
Taking her left hand, she indicated that she was going to put it in her pocket. He watched her carefully but did not react to her slow careful movements. She reached into her jacket pocket where she had put the coin that Sebastian had given her. Pulling it out, she held it between her thumb and forefinger, showing it to him over the edge of the blade he still held steady at her throat. She could see a memory cross his eyes as he stared at the metal piece in her hand. His face softening slightly as his grip on the sword relaxed.
