by Jaci Miller
The inside of the barracks was reminiscent of the castles and knight’s quarters of medieval times. The barracks were so reflective of that culture that she half expected to see a round table and a sword in a stone. The room the outside door led in to was large, its stone walls reaching up twenty feet to vaulted wood beam ceilings. Iron torch holders dotted the walls and large tapestries, draped over iron bars, hung high above the room. Sun filtered through small arched windows piercing the shadows that hid in the corners, its soft light adding unexpected warmth to the barracks gloom. Warlician family crests hung proudly on the stone walls, each a reminder of the sacrifice that these men made to defend and keep peace in the realms.
There was a large stone table that sat prominently at the back of the room on a large raised platform. It was surrounded by heavy wood and leather chairs their tall wood backs carved with intricate detail, their black leather worn and faded. A heavy layer of dust covered the table’s surface, particles caught in the ray’s cast by the midday sun, floated helplessly.
Ceiling-high bookcases surrounded two sides of the space, their shelves littered with leather bound books and parchment scrolls. The room echoed of a haunting past—one that breathed of pride, glory, confidence, duty, and loyalty. She could feel its essence floating in the dusty air. The longer she stood inside these hallowed walls the more a feeling of power grew within her.
“We will rest here for the night but in the morning, we must begin our journey,” Rafe said motioning for Dane to follow him down a long wide hallway, just off the great room.
They passed numerous closed doors as they walked down the hall, those that stood open revealed a kitchen, a small pantry, and a bathing chamber.
Exiting the building through the east side, they emerged into a quiet, peaceful garden ripe with blossoms, color, and fragrance. In the middle of the garden was a large tree its gnarled and crooked limbs reached both up toward the sky and sweeping down toward the earth. Moss clung heavy to its branches and swayed gently back and forth in the early evening breeze. The tree was a smaller version of the Elder Oak that lived deep in Braemore Woods. She wondered if this was the anchor portal on this side.
She continued walking toward it, the setting sun washing the tree in a bright orange haze, its leaves set afire by the waning glow. The entire visual was stunning, the beauty and tranquility of this land overwhelming but no more so than here at this very moment as the fiery sun exploded in a kaleidoscope of oranges across this peaceful garden.
Rafe noticed the look on her face as the beauty of the sun-filled garden captivated her. Silently, he came up behind her leaning in toward her left ear.
“The beauty that is Dywen is magical even for us, but for you, seeing it for the first time, it must be unimaginable.”
She tensed as she felt his body brush gently up against hers. Her skin tingled at the touch, his voice sending shivers up her spine as it whispered softly in her ear. She closed her eyes feeling his energy reaching into her own, caressing, exploring, intertwining. As his shallow breath caressed her cheek, she felt her body ache with anticipation. She wanted him to touch her, she wanted to feel his skin against her own, to breathe in his scent, to know how he tasted.
Suddenly, his energy was gone. She quickly opened her eyes, turning in time to see him walking away, his hand clenching and unclenching. The bare skin of his arms glistened with a sheer film of sweat, his muscles taut under his tanned tattooed skin. She watched breathlessly as his retreating form headed toward an open doorway, wary of the overwhelming desire she just felt for this man—a man, who only a few hours earlier was a stranger. She had never felt this out of control of her emotions, this consumed by her senses. Her body was reacting to him of its own free will. It was both freeing and frustrating. She would have to figure out how to control her fledging chemical reactions to his energy or completing her task could become increasingly more difficult.
Rafe could very well be an enticing distraction.
On the other side of the garden were the sleeping quarters. He showed her to one of the rooms; a small square chamber that looked out onto the garden. The room contained a wooden bunk, a wash bowl, and a high-backed wooden chair. A wool blanket and pillow were placed neatly at the end of the bed and a small woven rug graced the middle of the stone floor. Gauze curtains hung from the window and blew gracefully inward as the breeze from the garden found its way through the opening. There was a small closet at one end of the room and a narrow door that led to a small bathroom at the other. Above the bed was a large crest which she recognized immediately.
Rafe noticed the recognition that passed over her face as she admired the crest. “This room belonged to your ancestor, Claaven Callathian, my mentor, and friend,” he said softly, a look of sadness flashed briefly across his face as he leaned casually in the doorway. “I am across the hall if you need anything.”
She thanked him as he walked out.
Alone in the small room, her thoughts turned briefly to home, her friends, family, Tyson. She took the crumbled picture from her backpack and leaned it against the candle that stood on the bedside table, wondering what they were all doing at this moment.
She spent the next few minutes washing up and trying to get the dust and dirt out of her clothes. Putting on a pair of grey sweats and an old worn blue college sweatshirt she pulled her hair into a ponytail and washed her face.
The room was darkening. She lit the candle, dousing the room in a warm flickering glow. She yawned, stretching her aching muscles as she crawled into bed, pulling the wool blanket up to her chin.
Closing her eyes, she thought about Rafe and the unexpected and rather uncontrollable reflective reaction her body had when he was near. The tension was palpable, and she hoped that he was not aware of her internal longings.
Trouble, she thought as sleep engulfed her tired mind.
Chapter 22
Dane woke to Farrimore sitting in her open window staring suspiciously at her. She was unsure as to why this bird was still so wary of her presence, especially since his master seemed at ease with her. Maybe Farrimore needed more time because he sensed that she was not from this world or maybe he was just overprotective of Rafe because they had been alone in this realm for so long.
“Well good morning to you Farrimore,” she said sweetly, refusing to give the bird any satisfaction. Farrimore’s feathers ruffled at the sound of her voice. His head cocked as he shuffled uncomfortably on the window sill. Giving her another dark beady stare he spread his vast wings and flew into the garden.
She smiled feeling slightly giddy at her perceived victory.
Stretching out the remaining visages of sleep she climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom to clean up. There was no shower or bath, so she made do with the large washbasin and the toiletry items she had brought from home. After washing her hair and doing her best with a quick sponge bath, she pulled out a clean pale blue t-shirt from her bag, putting it on with the jeans and boots she had dusted off last night. Her long dark hair hung in damp waves around her tanned face and she subconsciously ran her fingers through it, her mind wondering.
Packing up her backpack and strapping her knife to her ankle she placed her aviator sunglasses on top of her head and headed out the bedroom door in search of Rafe.
Timidly, she knocked on the door across the hall listening for any sign of his presence. There was a slight noise on the other side of the door and then it quickly swung open, startling her momentarily. He stood framed in the doorway, a slight scowl on his handsome face.
Her gaze immediately dropped to his shirtless chest, studying all the tattoos that were carved into his muscular skin. Some were intricate, others simple but one drew her attention away from the others. It was on the right side of his stomach, just above his waistband. The outer edge resembled Celtic knotwork; intricate black lines that wove in and out of one another crea
ting a circle on his skin. Contained within the circle were a series of intersecting curved lines that formed a tribal-style triquetra. For some unexplained reason, she was drawn to this tattoo, its power and beauty stirring something deep inside of her.
Slowly, she reached out her hand. She could feel his gaze on her, but she was unable to stop herself, her fingers stretching toward his stomach until they grazed the stunning tattoo. As her fingers connected with his skin, he abruptly pulled away.
“Sorry,” she said weakly, embarrassed by what she had just done.
He stared at her, curiously amused and bewildered by this strange, beautiful woman standing in front of him, but unaccustomed to feeling another’s touch. Her fingers were soft and cool on his skin and he had felt a slight tingle in his tattoo where she brushed her fingertips across it.
“You are a curious woman Callathian,” he said, grabbing his shirt and heading out the door past her.
She stood in the doorway embarrassed and astonished at the way she had acted. Although she wasn’t known for her shyness, this undeniable and uncontrollable attraction she felt for him was unlike anything she had ever experienced. The more she was around him the more she felt unrestricted by all the walls and distance she had built up around herself, over the years. She did not instinctively pull away from him, instead, she wanted to get closer, to experience all these new feelings that were cascading over her. Finally, she felt like she did not have to hide who she truly was. Newfound freedom in a strange and uninhabited land.
Still, it was making her act irrational. She needed to remain calm and in control. There was too much at stake for her to lose focus. Gaining back her wits, she walked down the hallway to find him.
Sitting at the table she tried desperately to avoid his eyes. Putting her head down she began devouring the food he placed in front of her. She had not realized how hungry she was as she quickly ate the bowl of broth and the chunk of crusty bread.
“I’m sorry, it is not much, but it is all I have for now,” he said breaking the awkward silence as he got up and rinsed off his dish. “Would you like more?”
“No thanks, that was perfect,” she responded still not daring to look at him.
“Did you sleep well?” He inquired casually, taking her empty bowl and rinsing it in the large bucket of hot water.
“Yes.”
“That is good, for you will need your strength to awaken this world.”
She raised her eyes, staring into his piercing green ones, a slight flutter drifting through her stomach. “I thought this world was already awakening with my presence here. I can feel its magic and life force getting stronger.”
“Dywen knows you are here, it recognizes your energy. It is curious, but it is not yet awake—only re-energizing the Druidstone can fulfill that.”
“Sebastian told me a little about this stone but what exactly is it?” She asked, beginning to feel slightly more comfortable looking him in the eye again.
“All the magic contained within the Thanissia Universe comes from the elements. Each race is ruled by one of the foundation elements—water, air, earth, fire, and spirit, and each realm has a Druidstone; an alter that is the power source for the world’s magic. The stones connect a specific element with its people and their environment and in turn, magic is generated and harnessed for use. Dywen is an earth element. We are a nature-based race, our magic is grounded by the elements of the earth and we can use the elemental power to create and distribute our magic. For you and me to gain our magic you must re-activate the Druidstone so that it can once again power the earth magic embedded in this world.”
“So, you no longer have powers?” She asked curiously.
“My powers, like this world are in dormancy. I still have them but there is not enough magical energy in the environment to harness, what little magic is left is fused to the doors to the barracks allowing them to open and lock. As I said, our powers are dependent on the strength of this world’s magic, we are nothing without the magical essence of our ancestral realm.”
She sat for a moment and let his words sink in. She had been feeling the environment ever since she had arrived on Dywen, sensing the ancient magic as it explored her own. She had been confusing knowledge of her presence, with the world awakening. If the strength and power she had felt in the ancient magic while in dormancy was any indicator, she was sure she would be in awe of the explosiveness of that power when fully awake.
“What do we need to do first?” she asked.
“We will travel to the Temple of Earth at the top of Ardrin Gorm. This is where Dywen’s Druidstone is located.” He hesitated before continuing, “I must warn you, this is not an easy journey, the temple is as old as this world and the path up Ardrin Gorm is perilous. Without my magic to help us, it will be even more so.”
She stood up and grabbed her backpack. “We better get going then!” She was beginning to understand that this foreign world was never going to be an easy conquest even with Rafe by her side.
“We must make one stop on the way out.”
Reaching for his sword that was lying on a nearby table, he strapped it effortlessly to his side. Picking up a large backpack he glanced at her. “Come.”
They walked side-by-side through the dank hallways of the barracks, Farrimore sailing easily through the air ahead of them. As they reached the great hall he slowed, turning to face her, a slight shadow passing over his handsome features. “Your ancestor, Claaven Callathian, was the most powerful Warlician that ever lived. Many of us benefited greatly from his tutelage and many of us lived through the Great War because of his tenacity when training us. Sebastian and I were two of those lucky enough to have called him a friend as well as a mentor. After his death, I felt a great loss, his presence haunted my sleep for many a night. He was a great warrior and a great man. When I was tasked with staying on Dywen after the Great War and guarding the Book of Realms, I kept something of his here with me so that I could be sure that it would always be in the hands of a Callathian. I knew that one day his ancestor would rise, and his legacy would live on in them.”
He turned and walked purposefully to the bookcases scanning the shelves until he found what he was looking for. Slowly, he pulled out specific books until there was a subtle click and a puff of dust blew lazily up into the air. The bookcase began to shudder its girth sliding clumsily to the left revealing a dark passageway hidden behind its depth.
“Come,” Rafe said as he reached for the lit torch on the wall. “It is time to pass on his legacy.”
Chapter 23
The air was musty and stale in the shadowy stone passage, the cramped quarters giving Dane a moment of uncertainty as the walls seemed to close in around her. He must have felt her hesitation because he unexpectedly squeezed her hand before moving quickly forward into the dark. As she entered behind him, the light from his torch provided a touch of warmth to the chill that saturated the air. The passageway was long. Winding its way downward, leading somewhere underground.
Eventually, they exited the stuffy corridor emerging into a small space. To her left was a simple wooden door, straight ahead was a large barred gate, reminiscent of the doors on an old prison cell. The room behind the bars was cloaked in shadows, an aching silence seeping from its depths.
Rafe walked over to the bars and whispered an incantation as he rested his hand on the metal plate bolted to its center. Like all the other locked doors it opened without hesitation and he entered the room, his torchlight scattering the shadows. She followed, unsure as to what she was going to see but strangely excited, nonetheless.
The chamber was small. Its stone walls covered with dark purple, velvet tapestries, all of which were draped upward by thick iron hooks. A shield bearing the image of the Callathian crest hung on the back wall, its gleaming metal reflecting the glow of light from his torch. There was nothing else in the cha
mber except for a tall stone slab standing majestically in the middle of the room.
Laying at its center, on a plush piece of purple velvet, was the most beautiful sword she had ever seen. The blade was thick and gleamed brilliantly in the torchlight, a slight silvery aura pulsed around its metal. There looked to be an inscription carved delicately into the metal blade but at this distance, she could not make out what it said.
Respectfully, she approached the stone slab, careful not to disturb the energy in the air that she could feel sizzling around the sword. As she drew near she sensed a slight vibrational hum coming from the sword, feeling a strange familiarity with its energy. The blade seemed to glow in anticipation, its gleaming silver reaching out toward her. Atop the pommel was a pentacle, each point gleaming with a precious stone of differing colors. The grip was solid metal, tightly wrapped in black leather, the strips intricately woven around and through one another. In the middle of the guard was carved a tree; its roots and leaves stretching out to each side making up the length.
The tree of life—she thought immediately recognizing the important symbol.
The inscription on the blade was now clearly visible, written in an old-world Celtic script.
“The fate of the realms lies in the shadow of one,” she whispered, her voice reverberating off the stone walls breaking the venerable silence that encased the room.
“What does it mean?” she asked, turning to face Rafe.
“I am not entirely sure. It appeared on the blade after the Great War after Claaven perished. I believe it is a message, part of the prophecy. I assume it is referring to your destiny.”
“But the prophecy says that there are other Arcanists, how can I be the only one to dictate the realms fate?”
