Beneath the Vault of Stars (The Daybringer Book 1)

by Blake Goulette

  “‘Good day, friends?’” repeated Kalas. “What do you make of that?”

  “C’mon, let’s ask him!” suggested Zhalera. She grabbed Kalas’ hand and led him toward the street, but by the time they reached its cobbled surface, the curious stranger had disappeared.

  2.

  Instead of ushering in a sense of security, the people of Lohwàlar experienced a rising contempt for their Poyïsriba “saviors.” The first day, a pair of soldiers made a show of scouting the surrounding area, but within a few hours, they returned, visibly exhausted, and, when questioned about the brevity of their expedition, claimed they needed to compare their observations with prior records. Moments later, however, passersby noted loud snores emanating from somewhere within the garrison. The next day, and the days after, weren’t much different.

  “Waste of resources,” most townsfolk grumbled. “Dirtying our water and eating all our food—whining about everything the whole time!”

  For the most part, Kalas shared the peoples’ unflattering appraisal of the Poyïsriba detachment with one exception: for days, he’d done his best to learn what he could about the man who’d spoken to him and Zhalera. Something about his demeanor, his mannerisms, resonated with the young man. Kalas had tried to follow him whenever he left the garrison, tried to observe him when he explored the town, but he had the distinct impression that any information he gleaned was a gift, that the man permitted Kalas to learn only what he was willing to share about himself, and that proved to be almost nothing.

  His name was Shosafin, but more often than not, when the other soldiers thought him out of earshot, they mockingly called him zhi Ilbardhën—the “Fortunate One.” Kalas quickly understood that Shosafin was well aware of the epithet but thought nothing of it.

  Shosafin’s comings and goings were frequent and increasingly secretive; soon, Kalas found he was unable to keep up with his movements.

  “He’s like a ghost,” Kalas remarked one afternoon as he trucked another load of fuel for Gandhan’s smithy. While he and Tàran still explored Wodram’s collection for clues about the object in the Empty Sea, Gandhan had made it known (in his customary unsubtle manner) that he could really use an able-bodied young man to handle deliveries and other sundry tasks—and that such a person would most often be interacting with his apprentice, Zhalera. Too eagerly, Kalas accepted the position without interest in a clearer job description nor what his wages might be.

  “A ghost?” repeated Zhalera.

  “Yeah, a ghost: he’s there one moment, gone the next, and when I think I know what’s going on, he shows up from some other direction, like he’s letting me know that he knows that I’m watching him. Trying to, anyway.” He finished his task and wiped his brow as another wave of heat washed over him.

  “Why are you watching him? Do you think he’s up to something?”

  “No, not that—well, nothing bad, anyway. He’s just so unlike the other soldiers. And he spoke to us—and not like we’re just children. Yes, I know all he said was ‘good day,’ but…I don’t know, I can’t really put it into words. Just curious, I guess.”

  “And I love that about you, Kalas, but I’ll bet if this Shosafin wants you to know something, he’ll tell you.”

  “You’re probably right,” sighed Kalas. “And I suppose Father and I might make better progress if I were more focused on that task.”

  “That metal thing?”

  “If it is metal, but yeah, that part of the canyon. We haven’t found much of anything in Grandfather’s old collection. Not yet, at least. I don’t know, sometimes I think we should just go back, take another look at it.”

  “I’ve never been to the Empty Sea,” hinted Zhalera. “I’ve heard about it, sure, but I’d love to see it someday.”

  “You would? Do you think Gandhan would let you come with me? Uh, us, I mean? Father and me? It would probably take a couple of days to check things out, but it’d be great if you could be there!”

  “Yeah? All right, I’ll ask him! When are you planning on going?”

  “Tomorrow! I mean, I’ll have to check with Father, but I think he’d welcome the opportunity to get away from all those books and papers. Oh—would that be notice enough for your father? If not, maybe in a day or two?”

  “Father’s not happy about his services being conscripted for those ‘ungrateful Poyïsriba mafame.’ Not when there are Lohwàlarrinme who could really use his help. I think he’d prefer I were somewhere else. I think he’d prefer he were somewhere else, too!

  “Talk to your father: I’ll talk to mine. If they agree, I’ll see you tomorrow before the suns rise!”

  3.

  “Kalas, let’s go!” said Tàran as he jostled his shoulder. Still sleepy, the boy sat up, rubbed his eyes, thought he smelled flowers and—

  “Gandhan and Zhalera are waiting! Your mother’s prepared breakfast: get dressed and eat quickly. I’m hopeful we can reach the canyon wall before the second sun breaches the horizon.”

  In seconds, Kalas dressed and entered the home’s modest dining room. Gandhan and Zhalera were already seated, enjoying the breakfast of eggs, hominy, and strips of cured meat Màla had prepared. He sat across from Zhalera and bade them good morning as he hurriedly devoured his own meal.

  “Thank you, Mother,” he managed between mouthfuls.

  When everyone had finished and cleared the table, Tàran whispered something to his bride, embraced her for a moment before sharing a brief kiss, then turned toward the assembled party.

  “Everyone ready?”

  “Hish!” said Kalas and Zhalera in unison.

  “Hish!” said Gandhan.

  “Gandhan? You’re coming with us?” wondered Tàran.

  “Swords only need so much sharpening, friend! I think those Ïsribarinme can go a day or two without wasting my time! But truthfully, when Zhalera told me what you and Kalas discovered, I knew I just had to see it for myself! All that refined metal, from the description, buried under how much rock? Multicolored lights without fire? Almost enough to make Tzharak’s tales sound plausible!”

  Things the world over, under, and above aren’t always as they seem…Kalas remembered.

  “I brought gear and provisions for Zhalera and myself. Won’t be in the way at all! So yes, it sounds like we’re all ready!”

  Tàran smiled. “We’ll be fortunate to have you with us, friend.” He turned to Màla one more time, said, “Follirín, mën al paresëthu,” and ushered everyone into the chill morning, lightless except for the dull glow of the waning moon.

  As they traveled along the Pump Road, Gandhan surprised Kalas with his dexterity and stamina: that someone so large should move with such ease seemed peculiar to him until he thought about what a busy day at the smithy must be like—the constancy of motion and exertion had forged Zhalera’s father into a human machine, much like he forged his metals into everything from swords to shovels. Zhalera, too, had little difficulty with Tàran’s pace, though unlike her father, she moved with an altogether different grace, lithe and nimble. What surprised Kalas most, however, was his own improved endurance as he stepped almost as lightly as his father.

  The first sun’s silvery light had just begun to touch what few clouds dotted the deep blue sky when a familiar sound insinuated its chords within Kalas’ thoughts. He paused as it transitioned into his conscious mind, then took an extra step to catch up with Zhalera.

  “You all right?” she asked him.

  “Yeah, just…I was just thinking about something.”

  Other than a slight pressure, a strange impression of cognitive fullness, the worst effects the Song once wrought never came.

  “Kalas, tell me again what it’s like! The trees? The animals?” she said, her voice charged with anticipation.

  “When we reach the edge of the Empty Sea, look down: it’ll be like looking at the desert through green-tinted glass, except it’s not sand, it’s leaves from trees that are hundreds of feet tall, maybe dozens of Sevens old—or older. If t
he wind is right, you’ll smell sap and resin: the fir trees are my favorite.

  “It’s colder inside the canyon, darker, too, but getting down there takes a while. The trail is narrow, and even though it’s also hundreds of years old, rocks still fall from the cliff face from time to time.

  “Sometimes we see animals on either side of the trail—birds and squirrels and the like. Sometimes, we don’t see anything. Tracks, maybe—and one time, last year, I think, I remember we saw a bear, but that was really early in the morning.

  “And you didn’t ask, but there’s the River, too. In some places, it seems more like a stream, but Father tells me that not that long ago, it was still too deep to ford—and it still is in lots of places. He also tells me that according to Tzharak—yeah, that Tzharak—when he was a boy, it was too deep and too broad to swim across! But I don’t know if that’s true! I mean, sure, the trees along the river banks look younger than the others, but even they have to be dozens of Sevens old, and there’s no way Tzharak can be that old! In any case, seeing the River close up like that, putting your hands in it…it’s amazing! But soon, you won’t have to take my word for it: we’re almost there!”

  “It’s…it’s nothing like the picture I had in my mind,” said Zhalera once they reached the lip of the canyon and paused for a brief rest. “It’s so much…more! I mean, it’s everything you said, but actually being here is something else completely!”

  “Just wait until we’re at the bottom looking up! But first, the fun part,” grinned Kalas as he wiped away tiny beads of sweat. The second sun had risen, and with it the temperature.

  When everyone had eaten a light snack and drunk from their water skins, Tàran signaled it was time to pack up and begin descending into the Empty Sea.

  “Watch your step, you two; boy, watch your step, too, and bring up the rear!”

  The path, worn and well-traveled as it was, proved unsettling to Gandhan, laden with his packs and a large iron hammer tucked into his belt: though the road was more than wide enough, his movements soon consisted of cautious sidles, and Kalas could read fear in the huge man’s eyes. The smith said nothing, however, just continued working his way down. His awkward pace wasn’t much of a hindrance: parts of the terrain required calculated steps regardless of what form they took.

  “You’re doing great, sir,” whispered Kalas. “Not much more of this before we reach flatter ground.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Not really,” Kalas winked. “You look like how I used to feel, but you’re doing great.”

  “I just didn’t realize I was so s—that this height would have such an effect on me! I guess in Lohwàlar, the ground is just…right there, not thousands of feet beneath you! I hope we reach the bottom soon—but not too soon!”

  As he moved, his foot struck a large loose rock and sent it hurtling into the emptiness a mere step in front of him. It bounced against the cliff with a series of solid thuds on its way down. Gandhan closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and inched his way forward.

  “This had better be worth it,” he warned with a smile.

  “It will be, sir! It will be!”

  4.

  Even both suns near their zenith only served to blunt the shadows of the canyon floor with their shafts of gold and silver. High overhead, what began the morning as whimsical bits of bright white fluff had become foreboding gray sheets of cloud, static in the sky above them. The diffuse light, scattered here and there amid the not-quite-silence implied a solemn atmosphere, although birds still chirped and insects still buzzed. An arboreal creature leapt its way through the higher branches of the immediate forest, drawing Kalas’ eyes skyward.

  “Father, those clouds…”

  Tàran followed his gaze and understood.

  “Wrong kind of clouds. Wrong color sky. I reckon there’s little chance of rainfire today. Still, there’s no harm in appreciating one’s surroundings!”

  “Even so,” interjected Gandhan, “will these skins really protect us from ilâegsali?”

  His relief at having reached the canyon floor had been palpable, and even Zhalera had teased him about it with a loving smirk. The smith had unshouldered his pack for a new water skin, but now, he held up a tanned hide, ran its peculiar surface through his thickly callused fingers.

  “They use some special chemical cocktail during the tanning process. I never learned the particulars, but it’s some combination of minerals and plant oils that resists both the rain’s heat and hunger. I’ve had to rely on such shelters in the past: they don’t last forever—that’s why I pack extra, even though they’re heavy—but they do the trick.

  “But from here, it’s a couple leagues, if memory serves, to that weird thing with the noises and the colored lights. We’re making good time: let’s keep up the pace.”

  It had been a mile or two since they’d passed under the old stone archway. Here, the River was broader than it was from the Ruins Road approach, and Kalas delighted in Zhalera’s unvarnished awe. Some of the clouds above had burned away as the suns began to separate: just enough to illuminate the forest’s splendor with rare clarity. They approached a small waterfall, and the suns’ beams split apart in its soft haze, revealing all the myriad colors comprising everyday white light.

  “Now I understand why you love coming out here with your father!” said Zhalera. “This place is beautiful! Just beautiful!”

  Kalas nodded as she reached a hand into the mist and marveled at how much cooler the air was, how clean it smelled as he breathed deeply of its tangy, resinous scent.

  They kept walking, and soon, the forest gradually shed its density, now featuring just a few trees here and there and bearing scars from the rainfire’s ill effects. Kalas recognized the side trail where Dzharëth had…where they’d discovered Ëlbodh. He shivered even though the waterfall’s chill was miles behind them. Tàran spared a brief look through the subtle breach amid the coppice that marked the trailhead but showed no signs of slowing down nor stopping.

  “We’re about a mile out, I reckon,” he said between rhythmic footsteps.

  The party chewed through the remaining mile with little ceremony. Trees appeared with greater frequency, just as Kalas predicted. A few deer—a piebald doe and two bespeckled fawns—darted across their path. Delighted, Zhalera squealed at the sight.

  “Did you see that?!” she whispered—loudly.

  Kalas nodded, smiled, enlivened by the unadorned joy that danced across her features.

  “We often see deer down here. All right, I’ve only seen them a couple times myself, but Father’s seen them a bunch. Says they’re still wary of humans.”

  Before he could say more, something snapped just off to the right. He glanced over his shoulder, then spun around.

  “Gandhan!” he shouted as a hulking shape bore down on the smith.

  Gandhan had heard the noise, too. He’d dropped his packs and now held his hammer in a wary fist.

  The forest writhed and churned as a huge buck crashed through the trees and into Zhalera’s father, dipped his massive, many-tined rack and tossed Gandhan through the air, tearing his outer garment in the process. It stamped the ground and snorted, jetting spumes of steam from each nostril while something red flickered in its eyes. Disoriented, it paused long enough for Gandhan to gain his feet. The smith, enraged, raised his hammer and charged the beast, but the creature side-stepped him, checked him with its hindquarters, and thundered into the woods, snorting all the way.

  “Do they always do that?” grumbled Gandhan as he picked himself up again and brushed away the dirt.

  “That’s the first I’ve seen of it,” Tàran remarked, concerned.

  “Did you see its eyes?” said Kalas. “They were red. I don’t think it was well.”

  “Father! Are you all right!” Zhalera demanded as she rushed to Gandhan’s side.

  “I’m fine, just fine, srufin,” he insisted. He played his finger through the fresh rip the deer’s antlers had created and a
dded: “My shirt, not so much!”

  “It’s possible we just surprised him, but I think you’re right, boy,” said Tàran, addressing his son’s suggestion. “I’ve never known any of the deer in these woods—what little of it I’ve explored, at least—to act that way.

  “But we’re here. Just around that bend.”

  5.

  Most of the immediate forest seemed to have recovered from the falling fire with greater speed than Kalas would have deemed possible. Only a few weeks had passed since the storm, but new growth had already reclaimed vast portions of the blackened scene. So vigorous had its renaissance been that Kalas had to spend a few moments rediscovering the shape’s location. The air, however, had acquired an unpleasant flavor, its prior cleanness now soured.

  “There, behind those trees,” he said as he hurried toward it.

  All four worked together to prune away the flora that obscured the object. When it was clear, Gandhan ran his hands over its etiolated surface, knocked a time or two at various points as he tried to make sense of the experience.

  “You were right, my boy!” he laughed as he continued his tactile examination. “This is worth it! I’ll be honest: I wasn’t expecting something so huge! But where are the lights? The noises? You’ve got a sharp eye, Kalas. I don’t think I would have noticed it had I been here that day.”

  Tàran watched, kept his distance, and removed the translucency from his pack and examined it while the others explored the area.

  “I just touched it, like what you’re doing now, and there were lights and sounds. Right here, like this…”

  Kalas came alongside Zhalera’s father and ran his fingers over the object’s surface in the same place as before, and again, something about it suggested skin, as though something more wondrous lie hidden behind its unassuming façade.