From what they had been taught, Aaridnay Alistrain’s life had begun in anger, and so, too, had it ended in the Great Realms far from her home continent of Darovian in which she escaped the tyrannical rule of her father.
Most of the people of the Great Realms were of a single mind when they agreed that the Rayaksha family had been the key to her undoing. In this new realm she had hoped to establish a government of peace, love, understanding, and diversity, but she ended up failing in her pursuit as people fought and warred. It was then that the Rayaksha’s allegedly bent her ear into believing that the Chaos of her father’s rule had followed them to the Great Realms. Chaos had indeed followed them, but it was not in the form of her father or his rule, but instead in the very wyrd of the Rayaksha family.
In this very ravine she had come to an abrupt end, flinging herself from the highest peak to lie bloody and broken on the trail below. In her death the wyrd she had commanded took root in the walls of the ravine, bleaching all color out until it was no longer earth and stone but diamond that stood between the now Holy Realm and the Realm of Air.
Her intentions in life had shown through in this new extension of the Wyrd Holdings. The precious stone of the ravine caught the light of day, holding on to the elusiveness that she hoped to harness and help rule with, and displayed a rainbow of colors at night that was said to represent the diversity and love she sought so fervently to impress upon her people.
If it was love that she was said to have portrayed, then the dreams of that willowy, blond-haired blue-eyed sorceress that lived so many ages ago could not be proven to Joya. She woke in the middle of the night from a nightmare of Aaridnay so terrifying that she did not sleep again that night. Yet it was not to the peaceful night of camp life that Joya woke to, rather to the ghostly image of Aaridnay screaming before her face: “DALUA!”
So it was when early morning came around Joya was hesitant about entering that glimmering canyon of diamond. Something within her writhed and seethed, wishing to escape her fleshy prison and be rid of this place. That other part of her that breathed anger and hatred through her body at those around her wished nothing more than to go anywhere other than this place, this path of endless eyes that conjured the feeling of being watched, studied—the same feeling that made her suspect that it was plotting her demise.
Aaridnay appeared to her frequently that first day, and the days after that, each time becoming more and more hateful, screaming words of condemnation for that which hated within Joya. She tried, oh how she tried, to silence her anger, to be rid of it, and to forgive those around her for all that they had held from her, but she couldn’t. Each time she thought she mastered her anger, something else would happen—a pleasantry would be shared between Angelica and Jovian—and the anger would flare back up, causing another torrent of verbal abuse from the spirit of Aaridnay.
Soon her mood turned blacker than it had ever been, and Joya LaFaye did not see the wonders of the Ravine of Aaridnay around her as the others did. So intent was she on ignoring the face of the ancient sorceress that appeared before her that she soon lost all desire to see the wonders surrounding her.
The rest of the travelers, on the other hand, were not plagued by the same visions that Joya was, and so their senses were clear to what lay before them. Needless to say, they saw things entirely different than Joya did that morning.
From the moment the sun rose on that awe inspiring place, all of them were enamored by the beauty as the diamond ravine shined with a light that could almost be heard singing in the air as each beam of sunshine was drank in by the stone to glow colors that most of them could not imagine having a name.
It wasn’t until they entered the Ravine of Aaridnay that they got to see the splendor that human hands had crafted.
The Realm of Air was attributed with one material that gained it wealth from all the realms: a special oil. Both the eastern realm and the western one used the unquenchable oil, but the Realm of Water nearly depended on it. The Realm of Air used it to keep fires burning without being blown out; the Realm of Water kept their flames from being quenched by the heavy rains and fogs that realm was known for. The way one would tell a fire was lit by this special oil was its near transparency, appearing not as a roaring flame but as a ghost of fire until the sun went down and darkness brought the fire to life.
It was this same oil that burned in iron lamps set thirteen feet high on each side of the wall dotting the ravine from the entrance in the Holy Realm to the exit in the Realm of Air. Angelica and Jovian stared in wonder as the wind shifted the pale flames in their bed of black iron, but didn’t so much as diminish its size.
The light was not only held by the walls around them, but also refracted off it as dancing, shimmering light on the ground around them both outside and inside the ravine. It gave the sensation of not walking on ground, but instead walking on water, for the ground seemed to ripple and pulse with the shimmering, incandescence of this most wyrd of lights.
It was only later in the day, after their eyes and minds had been dazzled enough, that Angelica pointed toward the wall to their right where she exclaimed that they could see clear through the ravine to the fields beyond that tossed goldenly in the breezy day.
Grace made a point to inform them that it was windier the closer you got to the border of the Realm of Air.
Joya thought it might be safe to look through the diamond as the others were, to see beyond where the sun graced the wheat fields. She strained her eyes, but all she could see was the image of Aaridnay, encased in the wall, her body unnaturally distorted as if underwater, her mouth gapping open in a repugnant scream:
LEAVE THIS PLACE, DALUA!
Grace did not normally dream, so when her friend Rosalee appeared to her in the night like a wythe from the inky abyss of dreams, she was rather perplexed.
It was a starless night, and they were alone together in the mountains of the Realm of Earth. Shadows played across the ground as they trod a nameless path through the Barrier Mountains just above her sisters’ keep.
Her red-haired friend smiled one of her constant smiles, her face like a mask, her eyes seeing into some other world—a normal event for her after the prolonged consumption of the flying ointment that made her both of this world and the next. Finally she turned glazed green eyes on Grace and brushed a strand of hair from Grace’s eyes with cold fingers.
“A storm approaches, my dear,” she informed her, her vacant voice echoing off the cold mountains surrounding them. Grace was certain that her voice had carried down to the very keep below them. “A storm that I do not think even you are ready for.” And with that she was gone as was the dream.
Grace woke to the cool night alive with lights both from the ravine walls and from crackling torches. Together the dual brightness mingled, creating the illusion that the lights were dependent on the noise. Grace knew she would not find sleep anymore that night, and so she relieved Joya from watch where she sat on the ground some ways away staring blankly ahead.
“Where are you, Rose?” Grace asked, taking up her post and staring down the path from where they had come. All that night she peered down the trail and wondered where her absentminded friend could be, and why she would be using the ointment that was so nearly her demise when she was younger. “You know that you are not to be using that any longer. Pharoh told you no more; if you continue you could be lost forever!” She scolded the darkness knowing without a doubt that the redhead was somewhere behind her, but she was not sure where.
The ointment was a special blend of herbs high in toxicity that, when applied to the body (especially open wounds), it altered the mind in such a way as to give the impression of physical flight. Grace herself would have thought, upon taking the flying ointment that is exactly what was happening. But Pharoh had informed her that though it seemed you were actually flying, it was really nothing more than your spirit breaking free of its physical trappings to roam the lands.
Rosalee, as a natural herbalist, had been ade
pt at making the concoction and learned tricks that no other could master, and so it was that the old woman was able to, at times, intrude on others’ dreams and converse with them, or as was more fitting her old friend, supplant suggestions in their minds to achieve her own ends.
The danger in using too much was that the spirit would become so used to leaving the body that eventually it would not return. Rosalee had run into that very problem, and now people thought she was very queer indeed because of her past addictions. Now she was in a constant half state—half of this world and half of the other, neither present completely in either, yet able to act in both, though not to the extent to which she worked tonight on Grace. The working of dream traveling as Rose had done would have to be accompanied by a catalyst—the ointment, for instance.
It was the very fact that Grace had a dream at all, that informed her Rosalee was using the ointment again.
It was obvious that Rosalee was not hiding her consumption of the concoction, because one of the tricks she had learned was adding or altering some of the herbs before introducing them into the ointment could actually change the image her spirit took.
“And I swear to the Goddess, Rose, if I find that you have been using that ointment again there will be no need for you to spirit travel for I will set your soul free of this mortal coil for good,” she promised her, not for the first time.
It was on the morning of the third day that Maeven alerted them to a new danger. They suspected impending danger not by what he said, but by the tone of voice in which Maeven spoke when he said: “We aren’t alone on the path.”
“How much further is the end?” Jovian asked Grace as they hastily broke camp.
“About another five days. We have been here already for three days,” she informed him while saddling Holly.
“So exactly a week,” Jovian mused to himself.
“Either way,” Maeven said coming up to them, already packed and mounting Ernet. “The danger does not approach from behind us,” he said pointing to the path ahead. “We have no choice but to meet this head-on.”
But they didn’t. All that day there was no sign of any other travelers, which was odd in itself. The road had never been this desolate before, and the Ravine of Aaridnay was one of the greatest attractions for miles around. They would have thought to have seen someone by now.
It was nearing nightfall when they came across the shrine that made the ravine one of the greatest attractions, and it was even rumored that this shrine was erected at the very place where Aaridnay took her life. The monument dedicated to the memory of Aaridnay consisted of a huge fountain in the middle of the road with the ravine naturally widening around it in a circle.
In the center of the basin high up on a pedestal stood the statue of a woman, quill in one hand, scroll in the other. The statue was so tall as to rival the height of the walls of the ravine itself, which seemed to stretch to the sky. The veiled, willowy figure was to represent Aaridnay Alistrain; a bowl of the special, unquenchable fire sat at her feet just above where the water poured into the basin below. The scroll, they all knew, was to represent all the legal documents she had forged that gave the government its proper way of running, and the races their proper due diligence.
They rested there for a time at the garden of golden poppies and stargazer lilies taking in the peacefulness of the place. Jovian loved the way the red, pink, and white coloring of the lilies seemed to contrast the gold of the poppies and the lush, green grass that tangled around the bottom of the fountain.
Now there was no feeling of danger from the way ahead, and even Maeven relaxed a little. In fact, the only person that was little consoled by this place was Joya who was as agitated by their momentary repose as the rest of them seemed rejuvenated. In time they passed from the site leaving offerings on the small stone altar before the fountain.
It was on the fifth day they ran into the danger Maeven had warned them about, though no confrontation occurred from the meeting.
The Tall Stranger (as they came to call him) was a truly unsavory person. The characteristics of black hair and pale skin marked him as one from the Shadow Realm, and it was only when he removed the tall black top hat to flourish it at them in greeting did they see the black marking in each palm that confirmed their original suspicions. And though his black velvet clothing—cut in the latest formal fashion of breeches, lacey tunic, frock coat, shining leather loafers, and black silver-tipped cane—represented great class and worth from his homeland, the companions of the Holy Realm could not help but shutter at his mere presence. Even his perverse wyrd licked across them as he bowed and made other such pleasantries at their passing.
As he smiled his lewd, villainous smile, they were painfully aware of the horror that had become of his pock marked face. His skin was so reddened and parched from his time in the sun that it had begun to peel in large flakes. Around his eyes threads of dried skin clung to his eyebrows and the scruff on his face so much that he reminded them more of a snake shedding its skin than any kind of human being.
His shoulder-length hair was so lank and greasy that Jovian wondered how he was able to keep the top hat resting in one place and not sliding around his head.
At the touch of his wyrd, however, something stranger happened. Joya turned and looked straight at him. The two of them shared a look, Joya glaring and the Tall Stranger smiling lewdly at her. It was then, watching the two of them face off, that something began to work in Joya. The power rippled out of her, and the Tall Stranger was visibly stricken by whatever power she let loose. He cowered a bit before her, and made no effort to hide his fear. Grace could not help but think that his movements represented more supplication than abject fear.
He made his way away from them down the path in which he was originally heading. Grace found herself wondering what Rosalee would do if she was faced with him, and a grin lit her face. She shivered in the last, dying ebbs of his malignant wyrd as it followed him.
That night the attack came. Though it appeared as a murderous storm, Grace was certain it was, in fact, not the storm her dream of Rose warned of.
The ground gave a great heave, and the lamps set in the diamond wall flickered menacingly. The wind, if it was possible, began to blow all the harder than it had been the last few days, and within an hour even yelling was drown out in the cacophony.
“We need to find cover!” Grace screamed to Maeven who led his horse beside her.
“WHAT?” he mouthed back as the first of the lightning licked the top of the Ravine of Aaridnay, adding the deafening thunder to the din.
“COVER!” Grace mimed a tent over her head.
He nodded his understanding. They began scanning the diamond walls as they walked the horses, hoping against hope that they would find something. Even a slight overhang in which they could shelter against the oncoming storm would be a blessing.
They had found nothing by the time the lightning began striking the path before them, and Grace was starting to worry. She knew at that moment they were witnessing something beyond normal lightning, beyond nature.
Leading the horses down the wyrded path was now more trouble than fighting the wind, and they were certain that shelter would not soon be had and their end might be found in the same place that Aaridnay’s had been.
Suddenly the storm stopped, or at least the effects reaching them did. Through the diamond they could still see the unnatural black clouds above and the wind lashing at crops on the other side of the ravine. They could still see the lightning and hear the thunder, but it was all as miles away to their ears. The rain fell but did not touch them, and instead slid off an invisible barrier that enclosed them.
One look at Joya’s lax face told Grace the wyrd being worked belonged to her. Grace didn’t notice she was working wyrd without the use of the book.
“We still need to find a place to take shelter,” Grace said shaking her head to free it of water.
“I agree,” Angelica said. “I don’t think Joya will be able to h
old this for long. I would hate to be caught out in this when her wyrd falters. Grace, if this was the beginning of the storm …”
“I know; it is no natural storm, rest assured. Maeven, anything yet?” Grace asked.
He shook his head, but Jovian spoke up. “Look up there—is that a cave?”
They squinted through the darkness, and in the distance they could see one lamp, larger than the rest, with a fire flickering eerily in the storm as if nearly untouched by it. The light flared brighter than all around it, and it was most assuredly marking the entrance to what appeared to be a cave.
“I’m not sure. I have never known there to be any caves in this ravine, but it’s definitely an opening,” Maeven answered.
They made their way to the entrance much faster with Joya wyrding them than they would have without it. Soon they were standing before a large entrance that stretched far back into darkness. The entrance was not formed naturally. Looking at the way it arched perfectly up to where the lamp sat some twenty feet in the air, Grace could tell that this place had been crafted.
There was nothing carved into the entrance, though water flowed from where the lamp was fastened into the wall down around the sides of the opening, and looped before the entrance. A small stone bridge led them over this makeshift moat into the “cave.”
Once inside they stripped out of their weatherproofed cloaks and sat around in the eerie rainbow light produced by the ravine. There was no wood for a fire, and no place to put one, so they sat there in silence and cold, listening to the storm rage outside.
“What do you think this is?” Jovian crouched down and ran his fingers through the slick substance he had slipped on moments before. The two men had broken away from the rest of the group a while back so that they could search the cave.
“Hmm?” Maeven turned to look at Jovian.
“This stuff on the floor here; it is slippery and smells kind of sweet.”
The Mirror of the Moon (Revenant Wyrd Book 2) Page 10
