* * *
Two hours later, Nareash stood at the bow of the ship. As incomprehensible as the ancient maps and texts seemed at times, his assumptions regarding them had been accurate.
The wasteland of the Great Divide ended as abruptly as if someone had drawn an imaginary line in the air. Lush, thick jungles rose to soaring heights, the likes of which unknown even on the Blue Islands. The water changed from a deep, dark azure to a light blue one could see through. The water played tricks on the eyes when trying to estimate depth, but after careful consideration, the captain dropped anchor in a small inlet.
A short while later Nareash, Mizak, two shamans, and three dozen warriors led by a Kifzo named Guwan, slid their ships onto white beaches. The pale sand made him feel guilty for intruding on the ground as if their crunching footsteps might tarnish its beauty.
He stared out over the wild land. Hills that looked like a staircase for the One Above disappeared into a distant mist that covered the highest peaks. All texts led Nareash to believe that the ruins of Quarnoq sat somewhere within that shrouded area.
And within the ancient city lies a means to counter Amcaro now that he has the scepter.
His gaze slowly drifted down the green landscape as he shielded his eyes from the sun, scanning the peaks of the lower hills. He read that smaller cities leading to Quarnoq had littered those hilltops, when mankind still inhabited the lands.
Nareash saw nothing.
“I have men scouting the shoreline to find the best place to camp for the night,” Guwan said as he approached the High Mage. Naked from the waist up, the tall, lean warrior carried a long sword strapped to his back.
“We’re not stopping here for the night,” said Nareash.
“It’s past midday. It would be wise to make use of the remaining light to get a lay of the land and formulate a plan for tomorrow.”
“I did not travel weeks at sea only to arrive without a plan. We will leave now and make camp within the jungle when the day has abandoned us. Not a moment sooner.”
“I don’t want to risk the lives of my men.”
Nareash eyed the warrior. “Need I remind you of your orders from Tobin?”
Guwan’s tone hardened. “No.”
“Then have your men search for a stone road leading into the jungle.”
“A stone road? After hundreds of years, it would be impossible to find. It’ll be covered in a foot of dirt and plant life.”
“Not this road.”
Guwan narrowed his eyes. “Do you have any other information about this road? It may help in locating it since you’re in such a hurry.”
“It’s thirty feet wide and constructed from a variety of colorful stones. From what I gather, it’s a breathtaking sight. I’m sure your men should be able to find something so unique.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Guwan clenched his jaw and walked away.
Nareash chuckled. Tobin had insisted that one of his best Kifzo should command the regular warriors the High Mage requested for the trip. Guwan obviously did not appreciate his orders.
He found himself too filled with excitement about the journey ahead to care.
* * *
After an hour of searching, they found the road. Ancient descriptions did not do the legendary path justice. Slabs of white and black marble formed the base of the road while patterns of jade, jasper, and agate gave it a life all its own. Each step seemed more wondrous than the last, and Nareash had to keep reminding Mizak not to waste time studying the road when what they came for lay at the end of it.
That first night and the two that followed, the party camped on the road. Guwan and his men scouted the jungle, but other than coming back with local animals and fruit to replenish their supplies, they discovered nothing of importance.
In the late afternoon of the fourth day, that changed. Low lying limbs and vines that hung over the road parted near the top of the first rise. Mouths hung agape as they took in the scene.
Less than fifty yards away, the remains of a limestone wall encircled the ruins of a city. White statues adorned the tops of the walls. Nareash assumed the figures had been important in their time though they meant little to him. Gray towers rose behind the walls, their architecture unlike anything he had seen before as the dull color still managed to shine.
“Which one is it, Mizak?” asked Nareash.
The scholar rode atop one of the pack animals. He cleared his throat. “Poliktas. ‘The Beginning,’ if I translated it correctly. The smallest and first city we’ll pass through.”
Guwan came up beside them. “A stupid name for a city. What does it even mean?”
“It means that as impressive as the shattered remnants of this deserted place are, it’s nothing in comparison to what awaits us. Yet, this place in its glory would have made Juanoq seem like a cesspool.”
“How dare you speak of my home? If Tobin were here—”
“If Tobin were here,” said Nareash, cutting the Kifzo off, “he would concur with my assessment. Your ruler possesses enough depth to understand such things. Would you argue against that?”
Guwan ignored the question and started toward the arched entrance. “We’re wasting our time.”
Mizak lowered his voice. “I believe he doesn’t like you.”
“Few men do.”
* * *
Poliktas may have been the smallest city the group would pass through, but it still took an hour to reach the far gate at the other side. The beginnings of dusk had touched the sky and though Nareash wanted to push on, he agreed to rest for the night.
They made camp in the ruins of an old bathhouse where fresh water still ran. To everyone’s surprise the ancient pipes and wells flowed as well as Nareash assumed they once did centuries ago.
“It makes you wonder why our people ever left,” said Mizak.
“Hmm?” Nareash had drifted off into thought.
Mizak nodded to one of the shamans. “Colan and I were discussing what we’ve seen so far.” He tossed a piece of charred monkey into his mouth and followed it with a bite of copoazu fruit. “There is obviously still a great deal of food here and,” he gestured to the fresh water, “we know our ancestors did not lack water. Why would they ever leave something so beautiful? History says that many died crossing the Great Divide before our ancestors settled in Nubinya and later branched out to the land we know. I can’t find their reason for their decision anywhere.”
Nareash faced Colan. Somehow the shaman had managed to keep his blue robes absent of any grime. “And what is your theory?”
Colan bowed as other shamans did when speaking to Nareash. Their fear of his power warranted respect. “I’m not sure I have one. The obvious guess is that they fled some enemy. Yet, there is no evidence in our history or in the remains of this city that would suggest that. Perhaps a great plague infiltrated their populace and the only way to escape it was to leave their sick and dead behind. But there haven’t been signs of mass graves.” Colan shrugged. “Of all the things we might learn in Quarnoq, the answer to that mystery is what I seek the most.” He paused. “What are your thoughts?”
Nareash stood and brushed off the dust from his red robes. Though Poliktas still showed flashes of its brilliance from centuries ago, even the ancient people of this land could not stave off time from covering everything in a layer of grime. “I have theories, but none I’m ready to share. Though the answer would be interesting, it isn’t my priority. If even half of what I’ve read is true, Quarnoq holds inventions and weapons that could forever change mankind. Think of what could be accomplished with those lost secrets. A people who would not only leave those things behind, but then forget their success, are a people I care little for.”
Colan inclined his head in confusion. “But Nachun, these are your ancestors as much as they are ours.”
No. Not mine.
“I’ll leave you two to contemplate your questions. I have more pressing things to consider.”
Nareash walked away fro
m the crackling fire and into the ancient city. The light of the stars and a crescent moon illuminated his path. Venturing off the main road, he saw the plant life had worked its way through cracks in the stone. He stopped at a high tower where vines had crawled three quarters of the way up its side. A faint glow encircled his right hand, which he placed against the wall. The vines withered, exposing the chiseled carvings in the marble. Nareash recalled seeing similar work in his brief visit in Nubinya over a year and a half ago.
It would seem the people took something with them across the wasteland after all.
The sound of running water piqued his curiosity and he located the tower’s doorway. He stepped through and canted a small spell that illuminated the space. In the center of the circular room, Nareash gazed upon a marble statue of a woman overturning a jug. Water dribbled into a pool at the statue’s base. He strode to the pool, peered down, and his reflection stared back at him, or rather the reflection of Nachun. He allowed the glamour to fall away, thankful to look upon his real face once again.
“Nachun?”
The voice startled Nareash and he wheeled without thinking. Colan stood in the doorway. He wore a shocked expression. The young shaman assumed a defensive stance and found his voice. “Who are you?”
I lower my guard for the first time in months and it comes back to bite me.
Nareash sighed and returned the glamour to his features, darkening his skin, and smoothing out the hard lines of his face.
Colan’s eyes widened. “It is you. But how . . .”
“Close your mouth. And cease with your nonsense.” Nareash gestured to the shaman’s hands. “We both know that you’re no match for me. Now, come in before someone sees you standing in the doorway. Why are you following me?”
After a moment, Colan hesitantly lowered his guard and took several steps forward. “I just wanted to see if you could settle a debate Mizak and I were having.”
Nareash waved a hand dismissively and began pacing.
“Is this your real face or is the other?” asked Colan.
“The other.” Nareash gestured around his head. “This is simply a means to an end. A spell few even know about, let alone are able to master.”
“I-I don’t understand. Do you have some disease?”
Nareash chuckled. “I have no disease. I’m not from Hesh.”
“But there is no other place than—”
Nareash threw up his hands. “One Above, Colan. I thought you were someone who could see past what’s in front of him. It’s ironic that the rest of the world thinks the lost continent of Hesh is a legend while Heshans can’t fathom an entire world existing outside of them.”
“Then where are you from?” asked Colan. “How did you get here? And who is this ‘One Above?’”
“The One Above is the god of my people and I’m from a country called Cadonia. I’m not here by choice. A teleportation spell went awry.”
“Teleportation is a myth,” said Colan.
Nareash laughed, remembering his discussion with Tobin after Kaz’s disappearance. “I still forget how far behind Heshans are. Believe me or not, I don’t care.”
Colan bit his lip as if in deep thought. “Is your name even Nachun?”
“It’s an identity I assumed once I found myself without a way to get home. Teleportation is a risky and sometimes elaborate process. Without knowing more about the distance I need to travel, the results could be fatal.”
“So everything you’ve done over the last year and a half has been a lie?”
Nareash shook his head. “No, not everything. Most of ‘Nachun’s’ story is real. I simply borrowed it from a shaman dying in the Burnt Sands Desert after an attack by the Orange Desert Clan. I changed some facts to suit my needs, but the meat of the story is the same.”
“Are you really trying to aid Tobin in conquering Hesh?”
“Yes. I want to see him succeed. Haven’t I given the Blue Island Clan weapons, armor, ships?” He paused. “However, I made it quite clear to Tobin not long after we met that your people could help me accomplish my own goals too. Quarnoq holds the answers I seek in order to return to Cadonia and reclaim what was taken from me.”
“So Tobin knows your secret?”
“No. As much as I like the man, I believe the truth would damage our relationship and I can’t afford that to happen.”
The young shaman’s mouth formed in a thin line. Nareash heard his quickening breath over the constant flow of water from the ancient fountain. After a minute, Colan finally spoke. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Nareash shrugged. “But it’s been some time since I’ve had the opportunity to speak truthfully. I rather enjoyed it.”
“Then why kill me?”
“Because now you hold me at a disadvantage.”
“Can I make a suggestion?”
Nareash raised an eyebrow.
“Let me live. I know your story, but what does that matter? No one would believe half of what you just told me, and it would be my word against yours. Plus you have Tobin’s ear. Why would I betray you when you can dispose of me at any time?”
Nareash began pacing again. “What do you want?”
“Besides my life?” asked Colan. “Knowledge. I was sincere when we spoke earlier with Mizak. I volunteered for this assignment because of the chance to learn from our history but also from you. I want answers, and based on what you’ve told me, there are more questions than I even knew to ask.”
Nareash grinned. “So you expect me to teach you? Perhaps then one day you will grow more powerful than me.”
Colan shrugged. “It isn’t likely. I’m a capable shaman, but I have to work twice as hard to put the theory into practice. My natural talent is less than others.”
I know that feeling. It was that way for me before using the Scepter. Then things seemed to just open up.
Colan continued. “Hold back what you like from me. Even learning a fraction of what you understand would be more than what I could learn from anyone else in Hesh.”
“And the benefit for me?”
“Just as you said. You haven’t had the chance to speak freely with anyone for some time. That and my loyalty is what I offer.”
Nareash considered the proposition. He had expected Colan to beg for his life, but the way the shaman handled the situation impressed him. In fact, he had reminded Nareash of himself.
He removed his hands from his sleeves. Colan flinched, obviously expecting an attack. Nareash smiled and scratched at his cheek.
“Your education begins tomorrow.”
The young shaman bowed. “Thank you, Master.”
Chapter 3
Bazraki had been dead for months. Yet at times, Tobin still felt the weight of his father’s disapproving stare. He wondered what his father would say to the changes he had made to the Blue Island Clan.
No doubt he would criticize all of them. He was good at that, unless it meant evaluating his own actions. Otherwise, he would not have surrounded himself with so many incompetent people.
Tobin acknowledged each of his advisors entering the war room. Not one of the men had been part of his father’s inner circle. Some suggested that his cleansing of Bazraki’s advisors would result in them using their influence to cause discord among the populace to undermine Tobin’s authority. Only one man had tried to test the mettle of the new Blue Island Clan ruler.
No one dared since.
Tobin created his council to include people who truly made the city work. He replaced those out of touch with the actual running of Junaoq with representatives from the various guilds. Tobin intended to complete the vision his father began and knew he needed the right people in place to help him accomplish those goals.
Walor and Ufer, his commanders, also joined the meetings.
“Everyone is here, Warleader.”
Tobin nodded at Ufer. He would not stand for anyone referring to him by some ridiculous title like “El Olam” as his father had.
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He gestured to the man on his far left, a blacksmith by trade. “Anun, you begin. But let’s keep the updates brief. We need not rehash the details again.”
Anun nodded and quickly gave Tobin a summary of his progress, noting any obstacles still to overcome. Each person after him did the same over the course of the next hour. Tobin listened intently until Odala slipped into the room and flashed a smile. He held back a grin as he watched her gracefully take a seat in the back of the room. Their relationship had blossomed, and the weight of being warleader became unnoticeable with her near him.
Ufer shook his head disapprovingly.
He glanced one last time at Odala before giving the person speaking his undivided attention.
The last of his advisors, a shipwright was speaking. “. . . we’ll be testing the last of the vessels this week. And not a moment too soon. The bay is beyond crowded and we’ve raised the ire of the fisherman.”
“We’ll be out of their way soon enough,” said Tobin. “Keep up the good work. That will be all.” He gestured toward the door.
Each advisor offered a quick bow and filed out.
Walor stepped away from the wall as the door shut. “What do you mean by being out of their way soon enough?”
Tobin quickly glanced toward Odala and then faced Walor. Nachun had asked Tobin to wait for him to return from his expedition to Quarnoq before proceeding with the year’s campaign. However, Tobin had reservations about waiting. Odala helped convince Tobin that starting without Nachun would not be a betrayal of their friendship since his focus would not be on the Red Mountain Clan. “We aren’t waiting for Nachun. The longer we wait, the more advantageous it is for the Green Forest Clan.”
Sorry, Nachun, but you told me to trust my instincts. If all goes well, you can return to my victory in time to exact your revenge on Charu.
“Good,” said Ufer.
Walor began cracking his knuckles. “I agree. Even if he finds Quarnoq and comes back with the weapons he believes are there, I’d rather not rely on him. To me, his trip is another example of him thinking of himself first.”
Steel And Sorrow (Book 2) Page 4
