The air seemed different; colors of energy ran through his mind’s eye as if they were alive. He ignored them, focusing on getting his strength back. Even as this was happening, the memories of the Anamerians before him continued to merge with his own.
He remembered the settlers before the establishment of the four Kingdoms, which was over a thousand years ago, like his other memories. Years of learning about the land and history of the four Kingdoms paled in comparison to what he now knew, giving him a complete understanding of the world. He knew where everything was—roads, trails long abandoned or now covered in trees, secret tunnels, lakes, and springs. He was a living master map.
Thorlak spoke to Iseac with his lips still motionless, “A shadow of change is brewing, the likes of which mankind has never before witnessed or seen. We need to be ready. The three you seek are running against time. With your true self revealed, Sullivan will be looking for you to get to them. You need to bring them to us before he finds them or you. Remember, the beacon of the three will burn brighter when you are close. So listen when you are prompted to act.”
And this was how it began: Iseac, understanding that he needed to search the world for three people he’d never met before, using a gift he did not yet understand.
Chapter 4
The Green Box
Gabram continued to work with Iseac after his unlocking into their last weeks together. The speed at which Iseac recalled information, even from over five hundred years ago, was getting increasingly faster. His bond to the Anamerians before him was strong.
Gabram tested Iseac’s ability in controlling the air, which he did by drawing on the knowledge of Alizarin. The forth Anamerian before him born in the desert plain.
Changing tactics, Gabram began questioning Iseac on different situations and how he would use his knowledge to protect himself and those he would be leading with the least amount of casualties.
Iseac’s responses to Gabram’s questions at first weren’t quick as his mind raced through libraries of information, knowledge drawn from the Anamerians before him. His thoughts filtered through their life experiences like childhood memories, and with each following question, his answer came faster.
Iseac, with each passing day, was gaining a greater understanding and awareness of the world around him, but there was also something else going on with him that he could not explain. At first he ignored it as a fluke until it happened again: natural light changed into a reflective mass for a brief second and then returned to normal.
Iseac assumed it was part of the change that comes with one’s unlocking and wasn’t expecting a reaction from Gabram when he mentioned it in passing.
“Really?” Gabram said, his curiosity piqued.
“What…”
“What you just said a second ago, that sometimes the light seems like a reflective pool. I was wondering when you were going to say something about it. I was beginning to wonder if you had it.”
“What do you mean, have what?” Iseac asked.
Iseac saw the look he had come to recognize well in Gabram when he was about to show him something most people would consider impossible.
“All Anamerians inherit this gift; however, their ability to use it varies depending on the individual. Did you see images inside and around the Grand Hall during the unlocking?”
“Yes,” Iseac replied, wondering why.
“Yosterio,” Gabram said with some excitement.
“Yoste. What?” Iseac asked, knowing he would explain.
“Yosterio,” Gabram corrected. “That is what it is called in the old tongue. It means ‘mirror boarding’; it is a special gift that allows you to see things outside your surrounding by setting an image in your core.”
Iseac looked at him, lost. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I’ll show you,” Gabram said, seeing clearly that Iseac had no idea what he was talking about. “Get on one knee and close your eyes. I want you to think of something you saw outside today, something close to the house. Signal when you can visualize it in your mind.”
Iseac did when he was ready.
“Good; now place the image in your core,” Gabram said. “Place the tip of your finger on the floor and let the image in your core flow through it.”
As Iseac did, he felt a sudden sensation like a ripple run from his body into the ground. A wall of fog appeared in front of him and within his mind’s eye; he flowed through it and could see the exact yellow flower outside and other plants around the house. Shocked by the experience, he opened his eyes, breaking his concentration and connection to his core.
The expression on Iseac’s face was enough for Gabram to know that he had done it. Iseac looked up at Gabram, his eyes wide with surprise.
“That was yosterio,” Gabram said with a smile. “If you can hold your concentration long enough, you can see beyond your surroundings. While other people go to sleep hoping they are safe, you should always go to bed knowing you are. Always check your surroundings as far as your mind will let you.”
Even though Iseac’s first experience of yosterio was strange, frightening, and exciting at the same time, he quickly picked it up. It was like riding a horse after eighteen years: you never really forget. The process was exhausting, especially the farther out he reached his mind, and he quickly learned that there was a limit to stretching one’s mind. Once he had to stay in bed for two days to recover his balance after holding on too long.
They returned to Rod Stone temple on Iseac’s last day in preparation for what would be the quest of his life. When he got to his room, there was a long case on his bed.
It was slim, about five feet long, and next to it was a note that read:
“Now that you are ready, I believe this may come in handy.” Nothing else identified the person who left it, but he had his suspicions.
Iseac opened the case to find an amazingly well-crafted quarterstaff. It was polished deep brown and, at a casual glance, looked almost black. The middle was wrapped in woven leather about six inches wide. Both ends were wrapped in metal rods that were the same color as the wood.
Lifting it up, Iseac was impressed at how perfectly balanced it felt in his hands.
After supper, Iseac decided to go down to the temple archives, which were below the main floor. He made his way down several flights of stairs made of marble tiles that curved down, leading into a short hallway. At the end of the hallway stood an oak door with metal inlays that extended into the wall as part of the design. The door itself had no visible handle, just a small metal panel. The massive room was filled with ancient records and vast numbers of books. Iseac was hoping to find something interesting to get his mind off the big announcement that was happening the next day. He perused several of the scrolls, books, and maps, and after several hours, decided to head back to his room. As he rose to leave, something caught his eyes—a little green cylindrical box knitted in a finely crafted pattern. It felt out of place beside the other books. Iseac pulled out the box and opened it to reveal a scroll that looked untouched. Curious, he broke the seal and began to read as the words came to life in his mind.
***************
Alicia, the midwife, and her maid ran in and out of the bedroom preparing warm cloths, sheets, and ointment as Archena groaned with pain; the day had finally arrived that she would be delivered.
“The cerinum roots will ease the pain; just chew,” Alicia said to the laboring mother as her maid moved over to her back, making sure she was propped up enough by shifting the pillows behind Archena’s back for more support. The maid returned to her side, wiping off the beaded sweat that spotted Archena’s brow using a damp rag.
“Now take slower breaths,” Alicia said as she checked on her progress. “You are doing just fine.”
Alicia’s presence had a soothing and reassuring feeling. She spoke calmly, with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times.
The raining season was over and so, like every other day during this time of th
e year, the sky was clear blue with no clouds in sight. The sun was almost at its zenith, with the air hot and dry, when something strange happened. The sky started to change in the middle of the day.
This was not the natural gray sky that came with cloud cover; instead, the sun was losing its light and being overshadowed by darkness. Those on the street turned to look at the heavens. Within minutes, the sun was gone and it was pitch-black, like midnight. Widespread panic rolled through the streets as people ran to their homes for safety.
Silence filled the void as the streets became empty, and while nothing stirred, a faint sound suddenly broke the silence. The almost cat-like cry was coming from the herbalist shop, something that a few minutes ago would have been lost in the noise outside. It was the unique and unmistakable sound of a crying child, and a short time later, Archena was handed a little boy wrapped in white swaddling. She rocked her crying babe gently only the way a mother can.
The pains from her experience were an almost—distant memory as she smiled at him, her face filled with the joy of a new mother. The rocking motion of her back and forth soon sent the babe to sleep, and she too drifted off to sleep a few minutes later, drawn in by exhaustion.
While mother and child rested, three women walked briskly along a narrow pathway behind several homes with orange glowing windows that came from the light inside. It was a footpath of compact clay that joined the main street, which was empty. They moved with a single objective, ignoring the sound of everything around them, their intent as clear as their destination.
A creaking sound came from the door opening at the herbalist shop, followed by several footsteps as someone walked in. Alicia had been busy putting away some of her remedies held in little wooden containers on the lower shelves at the front of her shop and was hidden by the counter in front.
It wasn’t strange or surprising to have a visitor in the middle of the night when there was a problem that couldn’t wait until the next day. So it was a little surprising to find three members of the village Council standing at her doorway and looking around.
Dressed in their usual brown gowns with wide hanging sleeves, the inside of the dress red, they looked at her. The hoods of their cloaks were held down together above their chest by a crystal broach that rested in the middle of their bosom. The crystal gleamed as it reflected off the lamplight inside.
Each woman had a different color broach denoting her position. The crystals were either white, which was the lowest rank, then brown, red, or black, which was the highest rank or position within the Council. In these parts, members of the Council were revered as spiritual leaders and judges. However, they rarely meddled in civil affairs, even though they had that right.
“We seek the names of all mothers that were delivered here today,” the woman with the red broach said as she stepped forward. She was short and stocky with her hair pulled back, revealing her round face. The two behind her also stepped forward so that they were less than an arm’s length from her. Her tone was direct, leaving no room for question.
“Of course,” Alicia said without hesitating.
She leaned to her side, stretching her hand underneath her counter to grab a note, which she placed on the counter. Once they had the information they came for, she curtsied and they turned and left without saying another word. Alicia stood there for a minute, marveled by what just happened. She knew with Council business you do what you are told to honor your house, and that meant everything.
The following morning, Alicia checked on Archena and the babe, making sure they were fit for travel.
“Take two spoonfuls of this for seven days,” Alicia said, handing Archena a small jar. She then gave her some advice on feeding, cleaning, and generally taking care of her babe.
She wrapped a cloth that hung loosely just below Archena’s bust, with both ends of the cloth tied in a knot over her left shoulder, creating a cradle. She placed the child in the makeshift carrier in the front, and when they were ready, Alicia saw her to the door.
Dew was still on the trees in the cool morning air when Archena left with her son. It was going to be another hot day, with the sun already lighting the sky with its presence.
Archena was beaming like every new mother as she walked home. She was looking forward to showing her new pride and joy to her family, relatives, and the people in the surrounding area of her village.
She knew, though, that parading her son would mean listening to the unwelcomed advice of every mother who knew this was her first. “No matter,” she thought, still in awe of the child she carried in front of her. The roads had the normal stream of people this early in the morning as she walked, checking on her son regularly. Passersby occasionally exchanged greetings, and as it got warmer in the day, most people walked by the side of the dirt road, using the trees for shade as the sun licked the remaining moisture from the ground, leaving the red dirt road flaky.
By midday she was on the stretch of road that led to her village, and from her vantage she could make out the position of her house. It was a modest home, built on a platform that stood a foot from the ground, made from clay mixed with straw. It was light brown outside and gray on the inside, so it was cooler during the dry season, which was the hottest time of the year. Most homes had a garden, which separated the houses, but Archena’s had trees that stood high above her straw-roofed home.
As she drew closer to her house, the back of the building now in sight, there was no welcoming party, which was strange. It was customary that family and close friends checked frequently for the arrival of the new mother. The child is introduced by the father to the family and given a name.
Music and celebration normally followed the brief ceremony. The women would have people watching for her arrival. She started wondering what could have happened to everyone. Observing her surroundings more closely for sign of disturbance or trouble, nothing stood out, but it did not feel right. Something obviously had happened while she was gone.
As she turned the corner, the entrance to her home now visible, she suddenly felt her heart drop.
Members of the Council stood at her doorway next to her husband, Hammond.
“What would members of the Council want with us? Are they waiting for me?” She thought, hoping her fear was unfounded.
“What is going on?” she asked, trying to to sound worried as she met Hammond halfway. He looked heartbroken, even with his attempt to smile.
His eyes were dim, not the look one would expect from a proud father. He tried not to look at the child, fighting the longing. Clearing his throat, he spoke before Archena could ask another question. “Let’s go inside,” he said, leading the way, the Council following behind.
“No, I’m fine,” Archena said lightheartedly. “I’ve only been gone for two days. I know I can still serve and find my way around this house. If I need a drink, I’ll get one.”
It was expected as courtesy to offer a guest seat and a drink, since Hammond made no such offer to their guest before she sat down. She knew they had been waiting for her, which made what they had to say more unnerving.
“Now, come, sit,” Archena said, gesturing to Hammond. “We don’t want to keep our guests waiting.”
A Council member stepped forward once Hammond sat down. She was above average height and past her middle years, with streaks of gray in her hair. She spoke in an almost declaratory tone.
“We, the Council, have come to claim all children marked by Rami-hado, translated to mean ‘hand of the shadow’, whose spirit was stretched over the sun, turning it to blackness. The child you hold was marked by his birth. He must be cleansed as it is written.”
The words struck Archena’s heart like a blacksmith’s hammer and for a second, she could not breathe.
In her mind, she cast the words away, not believing what she just heard. Her world was about to fall apart. “No! It cannot be…he is our first,” she said, her voice quivering as she spoke, while trying to maintain some composure. Like a cracked dam at the brink
of eruption, she held her emotion.
It was expected of delta women that any outward expressions of emotion only happen in the solitude of their home. Archena was in shock. There was nothing she could say or do that would change things now. Once the Council had spoken, it was final.
“Angela will take and ready the child,” the Council member said. “The washer is waiting for you at the back; the water is ready so we can begin your cleansing so Rami-hado might not possess your seed.” Her tone was flat and empty of any sympathy.
“Please come with us,” Hilda said as Angela took her son away. It was heartwrenching letting go, like losing a part of herself. The baby started crying.
Supported by Hammond, she was led to the back of their home. A small tent made from banana leaves had been erected. Twenty feet from the house, steam oozed between the layers of leaves as she walked over to the woman who stood waiting. Removing all her clothes, she walked into the makeshift tent.
The heat inside was intense at first, but slowly her body adjusted. Inside the middle of the tent was a vase filled with boiling water containing herbs, buried in a hole, supported by hot coals, with another pile on the side. Archena could hear a single drumbeat…tap, tap…that slowly changed into a succession of rhythmic beats. The people outside chanted while keeping up with the beat as they moved around the tent; it had begun. Alone, she let her tears flow freely.
In her solitude, she wondered if she would ever see her son again. It had been over a hundred years since something like this had ever happened in this village. Thinking about it, she realized that the children who were taken never returned…
“But it will be different this time,” she said, interjecting her own thoughts. It will be different this time.
After several minutes that seemed like an eternity, the drumbeat stopped. The makeshift door to the tent was pulled open and she was beckoned. A woman stood at the entrance with a green sheet for her to cover up as she stepped out. Her face, shoulders, and arms were glossy with sweat as she was led back to her home.
The Silver Arrow Page 3
