by Jason Jones
Vundren lifted his helm, dropped his shield and axe, and fell to his knees before the wingless image of their youngest brother.
“Forgive me, brother, I knew not your light in this darkness.”
“Rise my brothers, for I need you, as I told you this day would come.” Alden spoke to his elders as lights of orange and pink came from the western sky. He touched them each on their wings, and they stood.
“What have they done to you, Alden? What have they done?” Siril teared at seeing his brother, knowing and feeling that it was but his spirit before them.
“Do not cry for me, Siril, for I am in Heaven, and watched by our Father on the white moon. I need you to protect our Mother, the fey, and guard those secrets of the earth and life with her. Do not let them find her, nor allow your people to fail.”
“It will be done, my brother.” Siril bowed to the light that was Alden.
“Where is Shukuru, brother? I will bring war to him for this atrocity!” Vundren roared in anger.
“Do not strike in rage, Vundren, but lead your people to your mountains, and keep safe the secrets you have uncovered here. They will come for you, and you must prepare for many wars in your deep cities.”
“I shall, little brother, my certainty upon it.” Vundren bowed.
“Where are Annar and Solumet, brother Alden? Where should we begin our search?” Haddius felt alone, for he too, wanted this attack to see justice.
“I do not know, and there is no time, our moments are few. Haddius, you will remain here, in San Sidomius, and protect it from Altestan. The Soujan will come for their blades, and to fill their temple. Honor them. Our sister is near, with her people of the islands, please watch over her.”
“As you wish, Alden, Lord of Heaven.” Haddius bowed and took the ring of keys from Vundren as they were offered.
“After the flood, we must meet here and finish what we started, a city of the white moon, for our people. I will send men of piety, purity, and honor to this place. I ask that you do the same. Then, we shall give this holy place to them.”
His light began to fade, the song drifted away, and Alden began to rise toward Carice in the morning sky.
Vundren looked to the light and spoke. “The flood, what is this you speak of, Alden?”
“I will flood the west, as the armies of Yjaros have reached the Agarian shores. This I vowed to Yjaros, this shall be done. I bringeth the morning, I bringeth the dawn, and Solumet lives. We must search for our brothers, Annar and Solumet, for surely they suffer. For now, you three shall guard the world with a vigil, and my watchful spirit.”
Alden was but a faint light in the sky, slowly blending with the fading stars and coming sun.
“I give all for my people, for my family, and will wait in Heaven to see you once more. I pray for you, my brothers, I pray for you. Pass on all to our mortals, love them, for they too will surely suffer. I will take them all in Heaven, they shall live again, as I have. Tell them not to be afraid.”
Haddius, Vundren, and Siril stood upon the plateau as the sun rose and stars vanished. The sky came to blue, and the moons were long past. The dawn they feared never to return, came over the lands of Agara. It was a miracle, a power, something only Yjaros was truly capable of, until just now. They each looked to one another, then the heavens above, knowing what it was they must do, for Alden, and all life upon the world.
CONTENTS
Prologue South of Gillian Shanador
Heirs IV:I Boraduum Bori Mountains 294 AD
of hammers and storms
Heirs IV:II Evermont Shanador 345 AD …fifty one years later
Curses IV:I Central Plains Tradeway Shanador
Exodus IV:I Road to Freemoore Western Shanador
Masks IV:I Southern Tradeway Shanador
Exodus IV:II Temple Way Kaki Mountain Foothills
Princes IV:I Castle Valhera Valhirst Chazzrynn
Hunters IV:I Eastern Piers of Valhirst Chazzrynn
Exodus IV:III Outer Ruins Western Curselands
Blades IV:I Underground Sewer Tunnels City of Harlaheim
Lords IV:I Freemoore Border Trade City
Sorceries IV:I Ruins of Mooncrest Kingdom of the Crescent Moon
Pagans IV:I Crossroads South of Vin Armon Kingdom of Armondeen
Princes IV:II Castle Valhera Valhirst
Maidens IV:I Temple of Haddius Ruins of Mooncrest
Masks IV:II Southern Trail to Tintasarn Kaki Foothills
Hunters IV:II White Spider Underground Valhirst
Blades IV:II Sanctuary of the Broken Wing City of Harlaheim
Princes IV:III Valhirst Chazzrynn
Intermezzo South of Gillian Shanador
Exodus IV:IV Temple of Haddius Ruins of Mooncrest
Exodus IV:V Upper Northern Caverns City of Kakisteele
Lords IV:II Tintasarn Border Southern Ridge of the Kaki Mountains
Exodus IV:VI Cavern of the Golhiarden Kakisteele Mines
Curses IV:II Vin Armon Capital of Armondeen
Hunters IV:III Temple of the Whitemoon Chazzrynn
Exodus IV:VII Forges of Thane Kalivak Kakisteele
Masks IV:III Refugee Encampment Outskirts of Tintasarn
Exodus IV:VIII Thane Kalivak Kakisteele
Beasts IV:I Upper Tunnels Kakisteele
Princes IV:IV White Spider Throneroom Valhirst
Knights IV:I Lower Mines Kakisteele
Blades IV:III L’Herrim Square City of Harlaheim
Heirs IV:III Throneroom of Thane Kalivak Kakisteele
Pagans IV:II Temple Way Ruins of Mooncrest
Exodus IV:IX Throneroom of Thane Kalivak Kakisteele
Hunters IV:IV Temple of the Whitemoon West of Mooncrest
Curses IV:III Tower of the Sceptre Vin Armon
Exodus IV:X Temple Way Circle Mooncrest
Curses IV:IV Northern Hills Kingdom of the Crescent Moon
Exodus IV:XI Northern Outskirts Ruins of Mooncrest
Exodus IV:XII City of Mooncrest
About the author
Epilogue South of Gillian Shanador
The Exodus Sagas Quartet Final Chapter Throneroom Deep Kakisteele Mines
The Dwarven Kingdoms Boraduum Bori Mountains Realm of Law and Family population 65, 875
Fazurand Zuran Mountains Realm of Faith and Wealth population 36, 755
Marlennak Misathi Mountains Realm of War and Honor Population 79, 465
Kakisteele Kaki Mountains Realm of Forges and Secrets Population 273
Prologue
South of Gillian
Shanador
I stretch my legs as I stand, the curled position in the abandoned farmhouse stable has been less than comfortable, the old hay clinging to my robes. The book in hand, pages and binding leaving dust in the air if I handle without extreme care, is of red curled leather and yellow parchment. The ink is now brown and faded, and half the pages are gone. I had thought to wait and read it in my study, but my curiosity demanded time with the tome and a candle. Though the Carician tongue of long lost use took time, it came back to me throughout the night.
“You are well worth the coin, old tome, ancient and invaluable. Acretas Caricium, the sacred truths of the white moon, what is left of you anyway. I have many like you upon my shelves, many more without her name, all in fact, if I were to suppose. Many of tales and truths that have been hidden, rewritten, or burned away with time, yet you survived, as I did. ” I sigh as I put the old book in the cloth covering of blue, then to the satchel that lay upon the haypile.
“You are talking to an old pagan book, Sodom, time to return home.”
I speak aloud, for the silence has been much upon the road and with my thoughts as of late. I reach for the reins to the tethered black horse that had watched over me all night, and make for the keep, riding hard just before dawn.
The trek takes me down over my green hills, too many to count. The red dirt road is moist in the morning, preventing the flying dust that would mark my passage. Time passes too
fast, the ride is short, and I see my fences of stone and gray. Veering off quickly to the right, I walk the horse by the reins to a grove of young maples near one of the many forgotten homes on my lands. The sun is sending the sky its first bits of coral, pink, and orange in the west. The black star dots the sky that holds two crescent moons of green and white, a sky that begins to come alive with indigo and rich blues. Dawn is fast approaching, and I have little time.
“Jahirium…” I whisper to my magnificent black mare, and she and the saddle sparkle out of existence, back to the arcane energies I have summoned her from.
“…Timiorus de muniore…” I quietly stare at my keep, from two miles away or more, and focus on the courtyard before the gray stone foyer and doors, right beside my favorite maple tree.
I am in silver clouds for a blink, maybe less, then I am home. My four stories of stone seem to welcome me without word, south Shanador breezes catch my robes, and the air is heavy in Shaltyn, the month of harvest. I smile and look out at the sunrise over the frozen eastern peaks of the Misathi, ones that I can see but faintly on a clear morning.
My arcane powers still here, latent, easily accessed and used. Yet I know I must be careful. I look to the white stone ring on my right hand, then the green one on my left. I am not concerned that the powers who dwell on the moons can sense me or my use of the arcane. It is far darker beings that those rings cannot conceal me from that hold a healthy fear and respect in my conscience.
It is Aldanai, seventh day of the week, a day of prayer and rest for those that worship Alden. In Shanador this means everyone for the most part. I hear the bells from Azaine to the north of my lands, the cathedrals will be filling in the hours to come. Ranny and her family shall be going to the city, farther north to Gillian, leaving me and my son Alessandeir all alone for a few days or more. I smile again, and walk inside my home, unseen.
Quiet, all is still, I walk into my halls and rooms as if the world has stopped and stolen the noises of which I am now accustomed. I remove my leather gloves, the satchel, my black cloak, and the sword.
“Moiritas, the blade of Mictalan, courtesy of Mowg himself. What a tale I may never tell of you.” I look to the ruby eyes of the sword, they look back, unmoving, but not at all unknowing. Despite the heritage and former owner, this blade and I have trust in one another, for over a millenia and a half.
I set the hand and a half blade with the ramskull crosspiece and ruby eyes above the mantle, hanging above the fireplace that hinted with telltale warmth that it had been aflame last night. Though I was only gone for a week to Acelinne, courtesy of faster travel by old arcane skill, what I may have missed at home dances through my thoughts. I hear them, the servant family, the animals outdoors, and then I hear my son. None of them know I am home. I smile and sit in the small east facing dining hall near the kitchen, where we eat breakfast.
“Dada is home Ranny, so I want sausage and fruit.”
Alessandeir lets out a yawn as he stumbles his first steps after the stairs down from his room. He cannot see me, in my shadows, yet I watch him in silence.
“He will be home soon, young lord, soon. Sausage and fruit it is.” Ranny is still upstairs, waking her family from the servant and guest rooms.
“He is home, I know it. Not soon, now.” My son is sure of it, and demanding in tone.
I see him look outside, his little three year old frame in the doors of the foyer, peering out north to the countryside. He stands still, hand on his right hip, leaning with his left on the wall, posing much like myself at times. I remain hidden, back resting in a chair in the morning sun room, shadows of dawn still cloaking my silent presence. Yet he knows I am here, I could tell.
“My young lord, the Lord Azarris will be gone for some time now. Acelinne is a bit of a trip, dearheart. And who knows how long the conclave will last? Not I. This is the fourth one they have called on serious matters. Then, he must make the return.” Ranny picks him up, a struggle for her age, yet she does and holds him with a smile.
“But he is home, I saw.” Alessandeir smiles.
“You saw it where little lord, up here?” She touches his forehead as she matches his grin. Her wrinkles crease, her tan skin so weathered matches her dark hair pulled tight, yet her eyes glisten with a brown glow. “Did you dream your father home, then?”
“Yes.” He giggles out as she sets him down.
“Children, niece, boys! Help me get the morning ready now, hurry please!” Ranny yells upstairs, rousing her family of five to action in her old years.
“Yes! Hurry! I have sausage you have to cook!” My boy yells, taking the mantle of authority in my absence it seems.
“Now, now, little lord. I will do the cooking. My boys need to saddle the horses, their boys need to get them brushed, and my niece and you need to eat and get dressed for temple. Tis’ Aliday, and you need to be coming with us to Gillian.” Ranny is walking toward the kitchen, her hips shifting in old age.
“Awwww uhh. I don’t want to go to Gillian and the smelly church of Alden, Ranny. I will wait for dada.” Arms crossed, defiant, darkening blonde curls over a pouting face, my three and a half year old stands his ground.
“Well your father, Lord Azarris, would wish it. If I were to leave you here alone---“ Ranny gasps as she turns and sees me sitting not five feet from her. She puts her hand over her chest and makes the sign of the feathered cross and circles it.
“Dada!”
I stand as I am charged by my son, grab him, and swing him up into my arms. It seems he has grown in this last week. He hugs my neck, I squeeze back, he smells of sleep on his skin and faded lilac in his hair.
“I knew you were home, told you Ranny.”
“By the wings of Alden, Lord Azarris, you scared me near to fatal you did.” Ranny tries recovering her breath, rocking back and forth to do it.
“Apologies abound, I was trying to keep quiet and not wake anyone.”
I nod, boy attached, then again as her two sons in their forties, two grandsons in their twenties, and her niece somewhere in the middle, come down the stairs after hearing Ranny gasp. All midnight of hair to dark blond, dark eyes, tall and thin they are. Shanadorian and Harlian mixed it seems, which is common in this part of Shanador, yet the sun seems to bring out a bit of Caberran lineage so hidden.
“Jaern and Kifan, please bow to our returned lord and see to the horses. My lord, how could you have possibly made it to Acelinne and back in just over a week, if you don’t mind me asking?” Ranny bows now and insists her tall sons do the same with but a glance.
“Ahhh, little mysteries good housemaid, tis all.”
I returned the bows with a slight nod and a smile, then the same to Kifan’s two sons, Hestal and Fourn, and lastly the quiet woman, Myrmya, the widow. They are all of Azarris since their service is to here and to my name, my family, yet none truly know of me or that the surname is not at all mine, by blood nor lineage.
“What was the capital like, dada? Was it huge? Did you meet the king and queen?” Alessandeirs’ blue eyes and smile ask the questions while his little body struggles down to put his feet on solid ground.
“Acelinne is immense, son, majestic and more. Just like the last three times.”
“Tell me, because I forgot.” Alessandeir sits up a chair, folds his arms, and rests his head to look right at me.
“Did you know they have over fifty castles there? That is just the city proper, there are hundreds around Acelinne.” I smile, seeing him grab the fresh juice of orange and apple as fast as Ranny sets the goblet down.
“Fifty?! That is a lot, that is like ten and ten and ten, and then more than that!” He slurps, dribbles, and looks at his fingers trying to somehow reach fifty. The smell of sausage catches both our noses as Ranny cooks away.
“It is. And yes, I saw King Borgaine and Queen Findyra the Fair, I even saw the Shield of Shanador in the Aldane Citadel.”
“You did?! Did you hold it and fight with it?” The plate sets down with still steamin
g lamb sausage in front of him.
“No son, no. They do not let anyone that close, tis a holy relic to the church. The last man to hold the shield was---“ My son cuts me off.
“Sir Foltaires the Pure, over four and eight and ten centuries ago when he fighted to protect Saint Tarum from the Altesarron Empires, way, way, way, south of here, in Ardolander. Then the floods came again, and they all died with the saints.” His sausage chewing is mingling with his somewhat accurate, albeit three year old, rendition of history.
“Yes son, he fought against the Altestan Empires in Arouland. He was a very holy knight indeed, four centuries ago, guarding Saint Tarumin. Very good, your mind is akin to a sponge.” I shake his hair amess with my hands as he eats.
“And that was the lastest time Altesarteran invaded Agara, cuz’ they all died in the second flood there way in the south.” He smiles, knowingly, innocent, and devours his breakfast and juice.
“Altestan son, yes that was the last invasion. But, they are not all dead, no. The flood was thousands of years ago, but the last invasion was stopped by Tarumin and Foltaires, though they perished at the last battle. The empires to the north are vast, made up of many countries and cultures, more than we know.” I think back, remembering wars that no one living could recall over two thousand years past. Merciless Altestan and their armadas, my eyes can still see them. I had been there to see it, when one of their deadliest, and least known, inquisitions came to Agara.
“How many are there dada? How many?
“Countless numbers, son.”
“Like thousands?”
“More than that I am afraid.”
“Hundreds?”
“No son. Altestan is comprised of dozens of nations, and they occupy a dozen more that they have conquered or hold allied treaty with. I would say, tens of millions live under the rule of the three emperors today, maybe more.”
“Dada, what is a million?”
“It is---“ We all turn, the housemaid, her family, my son and myself. Marching, commotion of organized soldiers to the south of the keep, near my home and getting closer. I can feel the ground shake beneath my sandals, the echo of armored men, I grab Moiritas from the mantle.
