The Amashanae
By Timo Kettunen & Dee A. Heikkinen
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Published by Timo Kettunen & Dee A. Heikkinen
Amashanae
Copyright © 2013 by Timo Kettunen & Dee A. Heikkinen
The writing of the story began nearly a decade ago, and after years of rewriting, produced a tale of over 600 pages of dark fantasy - Amashanae being the first part of it now released. We would like to salute our families for supporting our endless writing and editing process. We originally wrote this book partly in Finnish, translating to English, and partly in English directly. Books 2 and 3 are be released in the hopefully near future, pending some final revisions.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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Air o' the Erstwhile Ages
When men an' god were kin
Th'eys behind the great creation
Deemed us weak, forlorn
Bestowed us plight and set the stone
To take a hold of time
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PROLOGUE
An old man sat alone in his study, enjoying the warmth of flickering flames casting their friendly warmth on his bones from a cavernous fireplace across the small room of stone. In his hand he held an ornate silver goblet of blood-red wine, and he seemed to be immersed in thought as he studied the color of the drink, slowly rotating the glass and watching the wine swirl and then crawl down the sides, revealing the sweetness of the drink. He let out a sigh and sipped at it, then laid the goblet down on the table beside him. He let out another long breath. He was remembering the legends his old master had told, a young apprentice, such a long time ago…it felt like aeons had passed since those days of his youth. When he closed his eyes he could still hear the voice of his master reciting the legends echoing in his mind, and without him even realizing, his lips recited a passage half aloud; a chapter he himself had read to many a young apprentice as well:
‘In a cold, silent cavern, set apart from the realm of men and detached from this world, an immense stone wheel stands…immobile as a statue carved out of the bedrock surrounding it, steady and solid like the axis wheel of our world. The wheel has remained motionless since time written, a thousand years or more; there is no telling of time, only the knowledge exists. It is said that the wheel shall turn again someday, as it has turned before, for this we know from legends that survived from father to son since in the dawn of history. It was also told that this movement would only take place in a time of great turmoil and change. Scholars and Templars before you have debated for years on whether the wheel would finally turn because of changes taking place around it - or whether the turning of the wheel would be a cause for changes to take place in this realm. Not known for certain, yet all our beliefs are built on the very existence of the wheel and its part in the creation and the destiny of our world and us, Templars. All this you hear is told by Templars and passed on to Templars, the precious few, for it is also said that the Templars shall have a very special role in the turning of the wheel when it takes place. Yet even we do not possess the information on where does the wheel reside; that is what we have studied and searched for as long as the Order has existed. We know the wheel is well hidden…somewhere out of reach of mortal men; perhaps in between the very spheres of gods, perhaps beneath the astral plane. Where exactly is lost to men. There are those who ask if it exists, or: if the wheel would suddenly inch forward in its forlorn grave, would anyone be any wiser of it? Be it the cause, or the effect…perhaps we shall never know. But it is one of the cornerstones of our faith and the very core of the legend of Templars. Still one thing is for certain, my apprentices…when the wheel shall move the world as we know it will change for ever.
His voice faded and his hold on the goblet relaxed; chin falling to his chest he fell asleep, deeply in thought of old legends. But his sleep was restless. He flew accross the land, an unknown fear behind him. Escaped death he could not see or fight. Fear gripped him, and he felt he was no longer himself, but transcended to another plane; he was big, young and powerful, but there was a terrible fright upon his being. The dream started to grow very vivid and more intricate, and he moaned in his sleep and gripped the arms of his chair.
It pressed on harder; he could feel his wings give way, he could feel a tear appear in the skin and he reeled in pain. But he struck back and it retreated. Time was no longer constant. Now his wings were intact again, now they were tearing again, and he saw himself where he had just been, on the edge of an abyss from where it reached to grab his tail, and he screamed in warning and heard the scream and roared at the beast. He saw he was young again, his skin smooth and seamless, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the battle, and he saw he was old, old as the sun itself, layers of time dragging on his face in deep drooves and his eyes staring from deep dark wells in desperation, and all the while he wrestled it. He saw the world tremble and dissolve into shreds only to return stronger; he fell down an endless well and the light at the end squeezed into a tiny speck in the darkness, but the light burned his eyes and nearly blinded him. And then he died -
"Sharn! Wake up! It is I, Talor!" someone gripped at his shoulders through the veil of sleep, and with a curious pang of disillusionment mixed in with relief he awoke, lifting his hands in defense. Seeing his friend he shook his head vigorously and drove away the memories of the dream, groping for wine again.
"Must have been quite a dream, Sharn?" Talor asked, kneeling at the fireplace and listlessly poking at the now almost dead embers lingering among the ashes.
"Quite a dream..." Sharn confirmed. "Talor, I fear the time of legends draws near. The beast is awake".
Talor nodded and ceased poking at the ashes.
"I agree, Sharn...at least there is something coming...and how I do regret it should happen at such a time, when we are so old and weak. I can feel the years deep in my very bones."
Sharn grimaced and closed his eyes.
"Perhaps the legends were right. Perhaps the wheel has moved, then. Perhaps it is just about to. Either way, there will be destruction…great destruction." He paused for a second and attempted to smile at Talor. "No need to remind me of how we have grown so very old already either. Time itself betrayed us; it leaped forward and lunged at our throats when we were busy living" he gestured at Talor, hands a theatrical grip and fingers spread, eyes blazing. "But there is still some power left in us!" he finished defiantly, falling back to his seat. Reaching for a bottle he filled his cup, shook his head as if to rid the heavy thoughts from his mind and sipped wine once more. Its sweet, pungent aroma soothed his mind, like it always did.
"I apologize, Sharn. Of course it is not my place to complain. After all, you are the last of the elders, you are the one who is a direct descendant of those who established the knighthood of Templars all those untold years ago. What I wanted to say was...today there are but a few Templars left to keep the faith. The old tales are becoming forgotten."
Sharn rose halfway up from his chair, staring at Talor's eyes intently. "I know what I have studied and I know the scriptures well, and I know these signs around us are the harbinger of doom to follow. Yes, the beast, Firnaraee, it was killed all those ages ago, sealed to a grave and buried deep, deep into the rock, generations before our time. It is not a faerytale. People used to know it well, they knew it as the demon of demons, the destroyer of worlds...if they had even an inkling now-"
"I am sorry, my friend, but you know it as well as I do; deep down, to all them, all the ignorant people it is just a story, a fragment of religion or faery tales told by old wives when the sun sets and darknes
s creeps over the village alleys."
Sharn landed his fist on the table so hard that the wine spilled from the glass and onto the table.
"Yet the story is very true!"
He stared at Talor, who bowed his head in agreement. Sharn sighed again. "Once upon the time the Templars were revered and listened to everywhere, and the stories regarded true. Yes, even I remember being young, great respect left for the Templars even then, but now…"
"I know it all too well, Sharn. As our ranks have so quickly dwindled, our fame had also evaporated. Time has passed us by."
Sharn’s eyes wandered to a great book of history laid out before him on the table. I have done all that I can he reassured himself. I have spread the word the best I could. It was as if his friend had read his mind.
"We have certainly done everything in our power" Talor assured. People just do not believe in tales any more. There are plenty of charlatans preaching doom and damnation these days, plenty of strange things reported taking place. People do not know where to lay their trust. Orcs, Trolls, Goblins… further east in than ever before in the memory of this generation. Enough trouble to keep people busy and not worry about old legends."
"The beast is just another old wive’s tale’, I have been told. Old folklore. Yes. Oh, back in the day you would have lost your head confessing something like that to a Templar!"
"I fear we ourselves may have become mere legends over the years." Talor quietly added.
"With just wine to sooth our nerves. Care for some?" He offered the glass to Talor who shook his head. Sharn walked to the window of his study and eyed the landscape in the stirring light of dawn. It offered him an unlimited view over the north side of the town of Kiarra. This was his world and he wanted nothing more than to alert its dwellers of the impending doom, yet no one seemed to want to listen. He eyed the stony north wall of Kiarra and how right behind them laid the fields that provided the wealth and the livelihood of the town. To the west, if he really strained his eyes, he could on a good day make out the distant lines of the great mountains that Orcs had inhabited since the times unknown. He also knew that if one should travel further northbound, one would eventually reach other great mountain ranges. But before that there would be the elven tribes, who ruled the northern regions of Brodérunn…until the realms of dragons even further north, where hardly any man ever ventured. All this he knew from the scriptures, for he was a scholar and a knight. But, alas, the lowly inhabitants and the merchants of Kiarra, they had little understanding of the world they lived in. They were only interested in immediate events and tangible issues. He sighed again and gazed east towards where, in great distance, the dwarfs dwelled in their mysterious kingdoms. Even though too far to see, he knew the mountain ranges far away in each direction created a sort of a bowl, and this entire area was known as Brodérunn. Beyond the mountains, the end of the world; afterworld, Valhalla… and the wheel of time, perhaps. All of this would now be in grave danger. The bowl would be filled to the brim with blood of men and other beings alike when the beast would begin its reign.
Sharn gazed at what remained of his wine.
"Cannot blame the simple people; they live their short lives in the present, worrying little about the beliefs or the fates of their ancestors." he finally spoke.
"I expected little when we approached the town council, but it seemed our word weighed at least some …enough to be heard at least, if not taken for truth."
Talor snorted dismissively.
"The measures they have taken ate small …far too small, it is more like they agreed on them only for courtesy's sake. Probably more due to whatever remained of their respect for the Templars that caused them to heed your warnings a little. Yet, at least they agreed to keep the town gates closed for now."
"Ah, but which is only convenient now that there are no crops to move at this time of the year and the town will merely enjoy a short break in the influx of outsiders." Sharn mused.
"Well, they also promised to set up a committee to make plans for any sudden attacks…" Talor defended the council, but caved before Sharn's intent stare. "...but you are right in the end of course, they did not really believe. Only believed in traditions that mandated they should take a Templar’s advice when such was offered. But their hearts were not in it."
"I suppose that is better than nothing. I can only hope the word reaches other towns soon as well." Sharn concluded and Talor fell silent once again. He knew that as the beast would arrive soon, and it would draw in all kinds of evil creatures around. They would come to him like bees to honey. And as the evil would start to pour from the hills…well, at least then people would believe.
He made a wry smile. Times for sure are changing. Back in his mind he glimpsed an image of a great wheel slowly creaking forward.
”Valet!” he commanded, setting his wine down.
The servant appeared from behind curtains quickly enough to startle Talor.
“Milord?”
”Ah. Prepare my armour.” He paused for a while. “I intend to be ready.”
The valet bowed to both Templars and with that, vanished behind the curtains on the given errand. Sharn stood up and straightened his jacket. Then he reached for the goblet again and drank the rest of the wine, feeling the spirits of it warm his old gullet. He bowed at his friend and with that he stepped out of the room and headed down the staircase and towards the armoury.
Amashanae - Book 1 Page 1
