“The Hunters,” Leitos said, thinking of Sandros and Pathil. That joining had worked well enough to fool Ba’Sel and his men into taking what they believed to be humans into their midst. It also struck him that Sandros’s tale about the day he was taken from his mother had been a lie, at least in part. If Sandros had not known at first, he had learned in time that his true father had been an Alon’mahk’lar.
“Na’mihn’teghul … Hunters … changelings … no matter how they are called,” Adham said, “they are dread enemies. Fate seems to decide the manner in which they can alter their flesh. This Na’mihn’teghul—”
“Zera!” Leitos snapped, drawing a few glances from the rowing brothers. “Her name is Zera.”
“Zera,” Adham amended with grave reluctance, “is the first changeling I have known that could become a creature of both flesh and spirit. But then, I have been chained these last many years. I cannot say how much has changed in that time.”
“None of this tells me why it matters if I am the last of my line,” Leitos said “Does the Faceless One fear I will rise to take some distant throne?”
“There is no throne to claim,” Adham said bluntly. “As far as thrones go, there never really was one, nor was there ever an established kingdom. Kian Valara commanded a scattered army made up of any who wished to resist the rise of the Faceless One. Your importance to the Faceless One is the blood within our veins.”
Leitos arched an eyebrow. “Why would the Faceless One want our blood?”
“I asked the same of my father when I was about your age, and he told me of the legend of the Well of Creation—of course, to him, it was no legend, but truth.” Adham paused then, as if struggling to find a way to explain. “The Well of Creation was a receptacle, which for eons held the powers of the Three, the first children of Pa’amadin. In penance for creating the Mahk’lar, the Three foreswore their powers of creation. In doing so, they perished … but not before creating Geh’shinnom’atar, the Thousand Hells. Therein, they imprisoned their children, and also Peropis, the first of the Mahk’lar.”
“How did Kian come to this place, the Well of Creation?”
“A prince of Aradan hired Kian, who was a mercenary at the time, to protect him on a journey through the kingdom. Varis’s true intent was to seek out the Well of Creation—a secret revealed to him by Peropis herself. In destroying the Well of Creation, and taking within himself powers never meant for mortal hands, Varis very nearly made himself into a living god.”
“Nearly?” Leitos asked.
“Varis took some of those godly powers into himself, but for the most part they spread into all the world. As well, your grandfather always suspected that the release of such power had caused the Upheaval.
“Those powers spread like ripples in a pond,” Adham continued. “A random few, Kian included, absorbed some of those powers. In my father’s case, he gained the ability to resist Mahk’lar. As well, he told that for a short time he was able to heal the gravely wounded, seemingly by will alone. As far as he knows, he lost that ability in … in bringing his companions back from death.”
Leitos absorbed that, and Adham went on.
“There are other abilities Kian gained, which he passed to those he healed, and to me: strength, endurance, and long life.” Before Leitos could ask, Adham said, “The mines aged me, but as I am sure you have noticed, rest from constant toil has erased some of those years. I have walked this world for one hundred and sixty-seven years.”
Though Sandros had put the question into Leitos’s mind, seemingly a lifetime gone, he gaped in disbelief. “How old is Kian?”
Adham grinned. “All I know is that he has lived over two centuries. I cannot be more exact. My father often told how he stopped counting after his one hundredth year. ‘Why count single years or even scores, when they fail to mark my face?’ He usually said that in jest, but I believe it burdened him to live so long.”
“Why should that trouble him?”
Adham sighed. “Perhaps because I, his only living son, began to look older than him after my seventieth year. While I age slower than other men, I do age, where Kian does not. Without question, I will go to my grave before Kian Valara and my mother, Ellonlef.”
“How old am I?” Leitos asked.
Adham chuckled. “You have lived just sixteen summers, Leitos. Only time will tell if you are blessed with long life, but there is no question that the effects of the powers of creation dissipate through each generation.”
Leitos tried to mull all Adham had said, but taken as a whole it was too large for him. However, one thing about Adham’s tale stood out. “Do you truly believe your father and mother are still alive?”
“Unless some ill has befallen them, I am sure they are. But, as they are the face of the force that stands opposed to the Faceless One, I can only hope that they are still in the world, somewhere.”
After a pause, Adham canted his head toward Ba’Sel. “He, too, was there at the temple of the Well of Creation, and the years have not touched him.”
Leitos found that hard to believe, but did not want to think on it just now. Instead, he returned to his original question. “But why does the Faceless One seek our blood?”
Adham drew out a stone of protection from under his robes. It looked similar to the one Leitos had worn until Zera bartered it away to Suphtra. “This amulet is the answer, rather the resistance to the powers of the Mahk’lar that it grants its wearer. At some point, the Faceless One conceived that blood was the answer to that defense … but only blood from those who originally gained resistance to Mahk’lar. In some way we do not know, he joins the blood of those like us to certain kinds of stones, gaining protection for his pet humans and loyal Alon’mahk’lar against disloyal Mahk’lar.”
Adham tucked the stone away with a sigh. “That is the main purpose of the Na’mihn’teghul, the Hunters, to seek out and find those with the desired blood in their veins. It could be that the blood of the Valara line is no more special than that of others who can repel the attack of a Mahk’lar, but the Faceless One believes it to be special, and so we and our kindred are coveted above all others.”
“So we do not need stones of protection?” Leitos asked.
“No,” Adham said. “Mine was given to me by Sumahn, after he found me wandering through the Mountains of Fire.” Adham lowered his voice. “I continue to wear it because I cannot be sure who we can trust. It is a tragedy that she—Zera—spoke aloud our linage within the hearing of others, but what is done is done.”
Leitos thought about betrayers among the Brothers of the Crimson Shield. As much as he wanted to be among friends he could trust, he knew he could never again blindly accept the loyalty of others.
“Zera also said that the Faceless One did not stand unopposed in the world,” Leitos said. “And I saw with my own eyes the Alon’mahk’lar that the Mahk’lar created within a bone-town north of Zuladah. Could it truly be that some Mahk’lar are planning to make war on the Faceless One?”
“Without question,” Adham said. “It would seem,” he continued in a stark tone, “that while the balance of power has changed in the world, the struggle for power has not. Doubtless, the days ahead will be dark for all, whether they strive for dominance, or oppose it. And now, more than ever, the blood of those who can resist possession by Mahk’lar will be sought and taken. Ours is a dangerous time, my son, but we are of the north, and we will fight.”
Epilogue
“Did you know Zera had betrayed you when I first spoke of her?” Leitos asked Ba’Sel, who was placing a final stone upon her grave.
After landing on a slender tongue of stone that in no way could be described as a shoreline, Leitos had gathered Zera in his arms and began a grueling climb to the highest point on the island. He had picked it out long before they landed, marked it in his mind as the place she might have chosen for herself. He had not travelled far, before Ba’Sel caught up and offered to help. Leitos remembered what Adham had said about trust, and
grudgingly agreed.
Now Ba’Sel straightened from his work, his dark face a mask of remorse. “I did,” he answered, arming away the sheen of sweat from his brow. “Though I wished otherwise, I knew. Had we not moved the Sanctuary after she last departed us, she would not have needed to use you to find us again. As we took her in, along with Sandros and Pathil, and even your father, she knew we would take you in. She just had to get you within the lands we patrol, and let us do the rest. As much as it pains me, it appears that I must rethink that rule.”
The breeze whipped around them, bending tall grass and rattling the green foliage of nearby brush. Where they stood, the singing of the islands and the crashing of waves lay far below them. Here the wind sang with a single, wavering note.
“Why did you keep it from me?” Leitos asked. He did not want to admit that Zera had initially used him to find where the brothers had gone. Yet, in the end, she had begged for him to love her as she loved him. It sat ill in his belly not knowing when she had given into to her feelings for him, and worse still in knowing that had she given into those feelings sooner, he would never have come to be standing at her grave.
“I chose to remain silent because I saw the love you held for her. If I had spoken any word against her, you would not have believed me. Such willful blindness is the blessing and the folly of love. You needed to learn the truth for yourself. Had I known you would run to her instead of away, even after you knew what she was, I might have reconsidered that choice.”
“I love her still,” Leitos admitted, and abandoned trying to hold back unshed tears. They ran freely, caught by the wind as they fell from his cheeks.
“As do I,” Ba’Sel agreed somberly.
They stayed that way, standing on either side of the mound of stones marking her grave, until the sun sank below the horizon and lit the sky with the brilliant colors of a fading fire. Far to the north and east, across white-capped waves, the imposing bulk of the Mountains of Fire waited and watched, a rugged blight upon the distant land that gradually melded with the coming night. To the south, scores of lesser islands marched off into the sea, now gone a deep blue in the waning light. East and west, only the expanse of the Sea of Sha’uul barred the way to the far sides of the world.
As the first stars began to dot the velvety darkness above, Ba’Sel said, “On the morrow, you will begin your training.”
Leitos blinked at that, not in alarm, but in curiosity.
“War is coming,” Ba’Sel said in answer to Leitos’s unspoken question. “War unlike any ever seen upon this world. You must be ready—we all must be ready. The days of cowering in shadows, of waiting for the most opportune moment to strike, those days are behind us.” With that, he turned and walked away, a troubled ghost heeding the mournful cries of its brethren trapped within the stones of the Singing Islands.
Leitos stayed behind in the cool of the deepening night, alone with Zera’s lingering spirit. The moon crept above the horizon, its battered gray surface bearing testimony to everything that the world and the heavens had suffered since the Upheaval. The winds calmed, and a voice spoke within him, kindled a tiny flame deep within his being. Grow strong and cruel, that voice said, slowly fanning the flame into a seething conflagration. Grow strong and cruel, and avenge the blood of our forefathers.
The Faceless One ruled with a scepter of iron and a fist of blood, sure in his knowledge that he held the advantage in seeking out all members of the Valara line. He may even know of a certain youth, Leitos Valara, not long released from ingrained fears stronger than any chains. Leitos meant to humble him, the Faceless One, but not before forcing that being to live in dread of his name. In the fullness of time, the Faceless One would cower before him, pleading for mercy that would never be granted. On the morrow, he would take the first step along the path to see that done.
Ba’Sel had named what was coming a war, and perhaps it was. Leitos vowed to himself, to the Silent God of All, and to those who had suffered under the Faceless One, that he would help in anyway necessary … but what he would wreak was nothing so trite as war. His soul demanded a reckoning, and he would have it.
Other Books by James A. West
If you enjoyed Crown of the Setting Sun, Book Two Heirs of the Fallen, be sure to check out these other exciting fantasy books by James A. West:
Heirs of the Fallen Series:
Book One - The God King
Book Two - Crown of the Setting Sun
Short stories
Night’s Hunt
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Biography
WHEN JAMES was thirteen years old he read The Talisman, by Stephen King and Peter Straub, and a seed of an idea was planted that someday he, too, would create different worlds and realities. After a stint in the US Army, a year as a long-haul truck driver, and a couple as a log home builder, he enrolled at the University of Montana. There, he majored in Psychology and, by chance, took a creative writing course. Words started to flow, and worlds were born. James lives in Montana with his wife and his bodyguard, a Mini-Schnauzer named Jonesy.
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Table of Contents
Copyright
Acknowledgements
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2
3
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Epilogue
Other Books by James A. West
Biography
Heirs of the Fallen: Book 02 - Crown of the Setting Sun Page 22
