He longed to whistle for Nabil and join them up in the sky, despite the cold. His grandmother had always said that leaders became such because they were men and women of action, that they became leaders because they actually did something. Yet he’d learned that sometimes doing what was best for a group forced leaders to simply become a pillar of strength for them to lean on when something challenging happened. With Khari gravely wounded and near death already and the other clan leaders quiet, broken remnants of what they’d been before, Gavin had been forced into that role, just when he thought he’d figured out his role within the Roterralar.
Gavin sighed and ordered the line back into motion again. Samsin was right. They needed to keep going, and at a faster pace than they were currently walking. The Rahuli people trudged forward through the snow. At the back of the group, a handful of white aevians climbed into the sky.
An hour later, Khari died.
* * *
Gavin leapt from Nabil’s back, shivering from the cold, but with an awed warmth spreading through his chest. When the patrols had returned with news of structures in the area Samsin had described, Gavin hadn’t believed it. Thousands upon thousands of tiny structures dotted the valley in front of him, snow covering their roofs in a white blanket. Hundreds, no thousands of people scurried through the space between the structures. Gavin faintly heard a horn sound, but didn’t process the information for the warning call it was until he noticed everyone below him scrambling for the buildings. Hundreds broke off and ran for specific points throughout the valley. Samsin landed behind him and flopped down onto the ground. Nabil hissed gently.
“It can’t be,” Samsin whispered, walking up next to Gavin.
“What?”
“They’re slaves.”
Gavin gave him a flat look.
“No really, they’re all slaves. Is that—?”
Samsin cut off as a group of the people below headed in their direction. One figure stood at the forefront, sword in hand. Samsin darted forward, long strides making his passage down the steep slope a quick and easy one.
“Samsin, wait!” Gavin called, but the tall Orinai was already gone. Gavin hesitated for a moment. They didn’t know these people. How did Samsin know them? But Samsin was the only one who knew the way around this place. Gavin chased after him.
“You!” Samsin shouted. “What are you doing here?”
Gavin chased after him. The approaching men, armed with spears, swords and an assortment of clubs and axes, didn’t slow. The man in the lead stopped in front of Samsin, who pulled to a halt as the group of men encircled him. Gavin tried to dodge out of the way, but one of the soldiers slammed his spear in front of him and sent him toppling to the ground.
“What are you doing?” Samsin demanded as he was surrounded in a ring of spears and sword. “How dare you draw weapons on a Great One.”
“Silence, you,” the leader said, sword coming up to rest on Samsin’s shoulder. Gavin got to his feet carefully, keeping his hands out to appear as unthreatening as possible. “Where’s Master Nikanor?”
“He’s dead,” Gavin said. “Died saving us.”
Stunned silence filled the air for a long moment before muted whispers sprang up among the group. The leader silenced them with a single raised hand.
“Who are you?” the leader asked, regarding Gavin with an intent, even condescending expression. Were even the Orinai slaves that arrogant? “From which plantation do you hail?”
“You! Explain yourself,” Samsin demanded. “What are you doing here? What is all this?”
The leader ignored him. “From which plantation do you hail?”
Samsin interjected before Gavin could reply. Gavin felt the building power within the Orinai before the sparks appeared on his arms. Why only sparks instead of the bands of energy?
“I will not be ignored, slave. Answer me!”
The leader turned and gave Samsin the coldest, most condescending look Gavin had ever seen. “I am not your slave. I am not anyone’s slave. If you move, you’ll be dead before you even feel the prick of the sword.”
Gavin swallowed hard as the sparks on Samsin’s arms died and the power dissipated. It wasn’t the threat, but the cold fury behind the man’s voice.
The leader turned to look at Gavin again. “I will ask you one last time. From which plantation do you hail?”
“I don’t know what a plantation is. My people and I are what’s left of the Rahuli. We’ve got wounded and cold people behind us. Can you help us?”
The leader’s face went from cold and condescending to stunned and disbelieving in less than half a second. The spear tips and sword points bristling in Gavin’s face dipped and quivered as their bearers reacted with their own expressions of shock and surprise.
“He was right?” the leader said, voice soft. “Nikanor was right.”
Gavin held up a hand. No one stopped him. “I don’t mean to be rude or violate any sort of protocols or anything, but I have people dying only a few hours walk from here. Can you help us?”
The leader shook his head as if to clear it and then turned to one of the other men there. “Go fetch another few squads. How many of you are there?” The leader looked at Gavin expectantly.
“A few hundred.”
“Go. Hitch up some of the wagons,” the leader said to another of the men as the first ran off. “The rest of you, take the Great One to the Box.”
“Wait,” Samsin protested. “What are you doing? I helped these people. What are all of you doing here?”
The leader ignored him again. The other soldiers grabbed him and led him away. Gavin watched him go, unable to even think about protesting as an ethereal sense of relief washed over him. His shoulder throbbed and he fell to his knees in the snow. The leader was at his side in an instant.
“Come, we’ll get you a hot meal. I’m called Brisson. I was Nikanor’s steward.”
“My people,” Gavin said, struggling to his feet. “We’ve got to go get them. They’re up the pass there.”
“Don’t worry,” Brisson said. “We’ll get them. What’s your name, Rahuli?”
Gavin licked his lips, finding them numb. “Gavin.”
“Is what you said before true?” Brisson asked. “Is Master Nikanor truly gone?”
Gavin nodded.
Brisson sucked in a breath and then let it out in a long, sibilant hiss. “We will honor his passing this evening, once we have your people back in and sheltered.” Brisson looked over at Gavin and gave a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t worry. You and your people are safe now.”
Gavin slipped back down onto the ground. Safe? He didn’t even know what that was supposed to feel like.
Epilogue
Lhaurel sat upright and immediately regretted it. Her head throbbed for a moment, blood pounding in her ears. Then it cleared, dissipating like water left too long in the sun. Memories flitted through her mind, but she couldn’t tell if they were real or merely part of dream.
“Peace, child.”
Lhaurel spun, reaching desperately for her powers.
Nothing happened.
One of the Sisters sat on the rocking, wooden floor with her, watching Lhaurel intently. Fear laced through Lhaurel and she found her lips and throat dry.
“Where am I?” Lhaurel asked, looking around. They were in a small room made of wood, which bounced back and forth slightly beneath her. Was that another quake? Terror worked up her throat and tried to strangle her.
“On your way home, child.” The Sister flashed her a smile, revealing her pointed teeth.
Lhaurel shuddered. “What about the others? Did you honor our arrangement?” Lhaurel’s voice held a measure of desperation to it, even to her own ears.
The Sister smiled again.
“Why can’t I feel my powers?”
“Well, child, we can’t have you playing with things you don’t understand.” The Sister’s eyes flashed and she smiled a third time, as if she’d said something clever or funny. Lhaurel sw
allowed hard to keep down the bile that arose within her.
“Are you going to kill me?” Lhaurel licked her lips, finding herself ready to meet her fate.
“Kill you?” The woman laughed. The sound had no humor in it. “No, child. We’re going to make you one of us.”
“One of you?”
“Welcome to the Seven Sisters, child.”
Skies
Future House Publishing
Text © 2016 Kevin L. Nielsen
Interior illustration © 2016 Jeff Harvey
Cover image © 2016 Future House Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of Future House Publishing at [email protected].
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-944452-52-0 (paperback)
Cover image adaptation by Jeff Harvey
Developmental editing by Mandi Diaz
Substantive editing by Emma Hoggan
Copy editing by Alexa McKaig
Interior design by Kalie Walker
Skies
Part 1: Smoke and Ashes
Chapter 1: Questions
Chapter 2: Wonder
Chapter 3: Death
Chapter 4: The Sound of Justice
Chapter 5: Meetings in the Night
Part 2: Silence and Ice
Chapter 6: Limitations
Chapter 7: Longing
Chapter 8: Stoned
Chapter 9: Purple Tears
Chapter 10: Hospitality
Chapter 11: Dampness and Cold
Chapter 12: Diplomacy
Part 3: Belief and Power
Chapter 13: The Silence Within
Chapter 14: Beneath Blackened Skies
Chapter 15: Realization
Chapter 16: Authority
Chapter 17: Scents and Sounds
Chapter 18: Honor’s Folly
Chapter 19: Farah of the Skies
Chapter 20: Us and Them
Part 4: Energy and Resolve
Chapter 21: A Touch of Steel
Chapter 22: Politics
Chapter 23: Crude Magic
Chapter 24: A Voice of Warning
Chapter 25: Storm Wards
Chapter 26: Torture and Pain
Part 5: Betrayal and Birth
Chapter 27: Estrelar
Chapter 28: Brisson
Chapter 29: Escape
Chapter 30: Honor
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
This book would not be what it is were it not for two “purple-loving, dragon-riding twinsies.” Melissa Cox Meibos (aka Lysandra James) and her sister Amber Huddleston. They have provided both the encouragement and the “trash talk” needed to get this book ready by its deadline. They were the first true fans of this series.
My writing group, Team Unleashed, also earned their place here. Though they didn’t get a chance to beta read (or even alpha read) this one, they did provide the support and encouragement I needed to keep going when I needed it even when they were secretly thinking “I only wish I had his problems—can he stop talking now?” Luke Peterson, Beth Fewkes, Jessica Allen Winn, Beau Peterson, and Amy Sandbak (aka, “The Quiet One”), you are all mystics in my book. Oh, and you should stay out of Beau’s basement (not really—but I had to say it anyway).
I also want to thank Jeff Harvey for his excellent work in turning my sketches and concept ideas into the art in this book and the game based off Sands. He has gone above and beyond. Emma Hoggan, the main editor on this project, is an editing genius and I would be lost without her constant push back—I mean, support—constant support and encouragement. That’s what I meant. And her firm, no-nonsense opinions. I would be remiss to not thank Mandi Diaz. She worked diligently on this project with me as well and the book is far better for it. It will be a cold day in the Sharani Desert before I let the karma deities forget it, Mandi.
And, most important of all, this book is for Kaitlynn, who upholds the flame.
Part 1: Smoke and Ashes
Chapter 1: Questions
“The Progressions are but seven branches of the same Path walking parallel to one another, all leading to the same eternal goal. They are guides toward salvation. Witnesses to the End.”
—From the Discourses on Knowledge, Volume 17, Year 1171
Lhaurel stared out the back of the wagon, her gaze lingering on the blackened smudge wafting across the horizon which marked where the Sharani Desert used to sit. The smell of char hung heavy in the air, even this far from the smoky remains. The smoke and debris drifted to the west, out over the mountains, but still the stink of it reached her nose, reminding her of the volcano’s destructive power.
She hadn’t seen the eruption—she’d been unconscious at the time—but the aftermath alone made her shudder at the horror her own imagination conjured for her. She hoped the Rahuli had managed to make it out. If not, her sacrifice, her current situation, and her terror was all for naught.
No.
Lhaurel shook her head and turned away from the open upper door at the back of the wagon. She couldn’t think like that. The Rahuli had made it out. Gavin, Khari, Shallee, and the others all made it to safety. Lhaurel’s sacrifice had not been in vain. She had saved them again. She was their savior.
Lhaurel felt a wetness on her cheek and brushed away the tears before they could drop off her chin. She sat and tried to ignore the relief that washed over her as aching muscles in her legs relaxed. She wasn’t sure she could remember a time when she wasn’t sore and tired anymore. And she couldn’t even call on her powers for help. Part of her welcomed their absence. Another part longed for the strength they provided.
More than a week had passed since she’d woken up from the Sisters’ induced sleep: ten days of travelling in the back of a wagon over rolling hills covered in snow and grass since she’d realized the absence of her powers and abilities. That moment of realization sat like a depressing blanket of terror over her emotions, dampening them and making her efforts at hanging on to some measure of hope seem futile and tenuous at best.
Lhaurel shuddered and pulled the thick cloth garment she’d been given closer about her shoulders. The woman who had given it to her, one of the Sisters, had called it a cloak. It was thick and lined with a strange-smelling fur, but it was warm, far warmer than the Roterralar robes it so closely resembled in cut and style. It kept out the chill that seemed to gnaw at her bones, mirroring the ice that weighed down her heart.
The wagon ground to a halt.
Lhaurel looked up as the door near the front of the wagon opened and one of the three Sisters who accompanied her walked in. The sunlight glittered off the bejeweled end of a walking stick, or staff, she carried with her, wrapped in the clutches of one pale hand. Lhaurel instinctively pulled away as the woman entered and the wagon door shut behind her. The woman was tall enough that she had to stoop, even in the massive wagon, though she was thin to the point of gauntness. The red nails on her hand stood out in sharp contrast to the whiteness of her skin. Lhaurel recognized her as Sellia, the leader of the Seven Sisters.
“Peace,” Sellia said, taking a seat on the space Lhaurel had been using as a bed. “You should not cringe when you look upon your Sister.”
Lhaurel scooted further away from her, retaining her silence. She hadn’t seen Sellia since she’d first woken up in the wagon. She’d seen the two others from a distance, though Lhaurel hadn’t spent any real time with either. There were marked differences in their appearances, but each had the same air of condescending, oily superiority, and the same features she herself shared in the pale skin, blood red hair, and matching nails.
“I will give you but one warning,” Sellia said, her accented voice not changing tone in the
slightest. “You will listen and you will obey. You have a long journey ahead of you before you return to Estrelar. Several months even. Still, that is very little time for you to become what you must be, child. It will go easier on you if you obey.”
“And what must I be?” Lhaurel’s voice was strong, but the small quaver at the end betrayed the emotions running through her.
“One of us, child. A full Sister.”
Lhaurel couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran down her back and caused her fists to clench and then unclench. Sellia muttered something under her breath in another language. The words seemed to tug at Lhaurel, as if she should know them, but she pushed the feeling aside.
“How am I supposed to be one of you without my abilities, without my powers?” Lhaurel asked.
Sellia flashed her a pointed smile and Lhaurel shuddered again. Lhaurel decided at that moment that no matter what else she was required to do, she would never file her teeth down like that.
“Close the window, and then come sit here with me. We have much to discuss.”
Lhaurel remained where she was, more out of curiosity about what the Sister would do to her than out of actual defiance. She’d comply eventually, but first she wanted to see if Sellia would make good on her threat. Though her agreement with the Sisters assured her complicity, even that had its limits. Lhaurel just needed to figure out what they were.
The Sister’s expression didn’t change, but in the space of half a heartbeat Lhaurel went from calm and curious to feeling as if an invisible hand were clenched around her heart. No sudden ring of red mist formed around her, and Sellia kept her expression in the same emotionless mask, but Lhaurel knew she was using her powers against her. Lhaurel screamed, a sound of the purest agony that tore from her throat with the force of a sand storm. Then the pressure was gone, leaving only a slight burr of pain behind.
Sharani series Box Set Page 62
