The Lost Prophecy Boxset

by D. K. Holmberg

  Chapter Thirty

  When Anda found him at the edge of the forest, she escorted him back into the city. The trees towered just as high here, and he found his gaze drifting toward the ropes suspended overhead, watching the daneamiin as they strolled along them. There was no rush here, no sense of urgency.

  Yet Jakob felt urgency.

  “I need to find Brohmin,” he said.

  “After. The Cala maah is ready.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “After you see the Cala maah,” she said again, touching his hand. Warmth seeped from it, leaving him relaxed, but still struggling with the vision, fear of what had happened to the goddess working through him.

  They walked toward the huge structure at the center of the clearing, and at the doorway, Anda stopped him and turned toward him. She glanced at his still drying hair and his dirty shirt and breeches before looking to his booted feet. Her gaze fell on his sword. It hung at his side, its weight so easily ignored that he often forgot he wore it.

  “You will not need that here,” she said.

  They turned toward the door again, but before they could enter, Brohmin came up from behind him and placed a hand on his arm. Jakob let out a sigh of relief.

  “You were summoned?” Brohmin asked.

  “Yes. But, Brohmin—I saw something in the forest. A vision.” He lowered his voice and stepped toward Brohmin. “I don’t know what it meant, but I think I saw the goddess, but she was trapped.”

  “Trapped? You are certain of this?” Brohmin looked from Jakob to Anda. It was the first time Jakob had seen anything other than a serene expression on her face.

  “I think they were groeliin. Three of them, but bigger than any we faced.”

  Brohmin took a shaky breath. “I will look into this while you meet with the Cala maah.”

  “But—”

  “Your meeting with the Cala maah is important. Perhaps Endric was wiser than the rest of us knew. I asked for an audience but have not yet been granted one.” There was a hint of irritation in his voice mixed with something Jakob couldn’t discern. “Alyta meant for us to be here. The trunk was meant to come here, to the daneamiin. And you were meant to meet the Cala maah.”

  “I don’t understand. Why? And what if she’s been taken?” he asked.

  Brohmin turned his steely eyes upon Jakob. “I will worry about that. As to the first, I think you are to be tested.”

  “For what?”

  “I can’t answer that for you. If this is what I think, you can’t know ahead of time. Knowing might prevent you from succeeding, and I begin to think you must succeed.” Brohmin sighed. “I pray Endric knew what he was doing.”

  Brohmin watched him a moment before nodding and turning away.

  Anda guided him through the doorway, and passing beneath, he felt a slight chill. The doorway was earth and stone covering huge twisting roots of the tree. The earth and grass clung to them, coating them, making them more than simply the tree’s roots. As they moved farther into the building, he could see little, but there was a thick haze distinct from the growing darkness clouding everything he saw.

  Anda led him straight until he was in a huge room filled with light. The walls were made of dirt at his level, supported by the roots of the tree mingling with stone as they rose high above him to a barely visible ceiling. There was no sign of windows along the walls, no sign of access to the outside light, yet the room was awash with a bright natural light. Jakob could not tell the source. Daneamiin sat on the grass-covered floor in rows, legs crossed. Otherwise the room was empty.

  Not empty.

  The three figures that had been in the trunk were placed around the room, like points on a triangle. They reminded him of what he’d seen in his vision in the forest, when he thought he saw Alyta. Like with the vision, ahmaean drifted from them, power swirling around the room.

  “The Cala maah,” Anda whispered to him, drawing his attention away.

  She took his hand and led him before the daneamiin. They stopped, and she remained motionless, still holding onto his hand. The comfort it provided was welcome.

  He looked around at the faces of the daneamiin. There were dozens, and he began to feel overwhelmed. Not because of the number of daneamiin but more because of what he sensed about them, a sort of power. It was something he hadn’t even detected when traveling with Haerlin and Roelle.

  He recognized the daneamiin who had welcomed them when they had reached the clearing—Aruhn. He sat at the front in his own row, legs crossed before him and his eyes staring intently. Did his separation from the others mean he led the Cala maah? Did it mean he was the most powerful of the daneamiin?

  Some among them appeared young, much like Elin or Chollin, whereas others had the look of age, with wrinkled features like Aruhn. With the daneamiin, determining age was difficult. Not only age, but gender. Some appeared to have features like Anda, a slightly more feminine tilt to their eyes, and a slighter frame, but even the men were slight of build and had soft features.

  “You seem surprised.”

  He glanced over to Anda. “Some look too young to be leaders of your people.” He pitched the words quietly, but a hint of a smile crossed the face of the daneamiin sitting at the front.

  “There is more to age than appearance, Jakob Nialsen.” She glanced down to the daneamiin sitting in front before looking back to Jakob and pointing to his sword. “You will not need that now.”

  Jakob looked around the room and noted all of the daneamiin staring straight ahead. He nodded once, and unsheathed it before handing it to her hilt first. In the light of the room, the blade blazed brightly.

  Anda took it and buried the point into the earthen floor of the Cala maah. The metal made a thrumming sound before quickly fading. Jakob felt a tugging inside him briefly as the sword hummed, but it too faded quickly. Curious, he attempted to pull the sword from the ground, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “You are welcome among us, Jakob Nialsen,” the deep voice of the leader of the Cala maah called out, catching his attention.

  The weight of their gaze fell upon him.

  “You are welcome among us, Jakob Nialsen,” came another voice.

  Nausea rolled through him, distorting his thoughts, clouding his vision. He tried to focus on the faces again, but found it difficult.

  “You are welcome among us, Jakob Nialsen.”

  He could no longer tell who spoke. His focus blurred briefly before returning. Lights swirled around him, the colors of the ahmaean and more, filling his vision.

  “You are welcome among us, Jakob Nialsen.”

  He could no longer see their faces at all, and he staggered with the nausea, unsure if he vomited, and realizing he couldn’t feel his legs or his arms.

  “You are welcome among us, Jakob Nialsen.”

  The pulsing in his mind suddenly flared.

  Jakob pulled on it as he had learned he could, hoping to clear his head, and the pulsing intensified, building faster than he could control.

  It filled him quickly, pressing back the nausea. He staggered again and his vision blurred.

  Worry ripped through him. This was too much like what the Deshmahne had done, wasn’t it? They had tried forcing him into a ceremony. Why would Brohmin want to stop that but be willing to allow this?

  His mouth didn’t work. Was he screaming?

  He no longer heard the daneamiin welcoming him.

  He turned his head but saw nothing. The light that had filled the room was gone. The daneamiin were no longer in front of him, or if they were, he couldn’t see them.

  He blinked and felt movement.

  Was he still standing?

  He blinked again. As he opened his eyes, there was a tug at the back of his mind, soft and gentle, and he saw an open plain, lush, dark green grass as high as his mid-calf and the warm sun creeping down in the sky.

  How did I get here?

  The thought left him as suddenly as it came. A sweet breeze brushed at his che
eks and skin, and the thick grass tickled his feet. The scent of spring flowers was heavy on the air, and he inhaled deeply, a wave of relaxation washing over him as he did. Jakob smiled at the sun and sky, smiled at the beauty he saw around him.

  A soft touch at his shoulder made him turn. A short daneamiin stood before him, young and full of energy. “Come run with me, Grandpa!” she called to him running off.

  Grandpa?

  The thought was fleeting as he realized that the name was right; he couldn’t remember why it wouldn’t be. He chased her as she ran through the grass, laughing, before finally coming to rest at a small pool to take a drink. He leaned in to take his own drink and saw his reflection in the crystal water. His hair was graying, though part of him knew it should be. That part knew he had lived a full life, longer than many of his kind. Yet he still feared it ending.

  In the distance, a large animal knelt by the pool as well, lapping casually at the water. As he stared, the creature looked up at him with bright golden eyes, and a look of recognition crossed its features before the animal winked at him.

  A sudden strange irritation started in the back of Jakob’s head, almost an itching, that was familiar. Moments passed before he knew how he recognized the sense. It was the same sensation he had felt during his entire journey, since leaving Chrysia and through the forest with Brohmin. It was the sense that something watched. Could it be this creature?

  Soon came a voice in his head.

  The word was almost whispered, and he frowned, staring intently at the regal creature kneeling not far from him. A golden mane stretched down its back and a long tail swished casually. The animal winked again before standing and leisurely stretching and then bounded off.

  “What’s wrong, Grandpa?”

  Her voice startled him and he looked up. She giggled and jumped in his lap.

  “Nothing, Denai,” he answered. The name flowed from his tongue. “I am old, that is all.” Gone was the strangeness he had felt while staring at his nemerahl.

  But why did the creature seem so familiar?

  She giggled again, and he smiled at her. “You are only eight hundred winters old, Grandpa! You are still young!”

  He looked upon his granddaughter, knowing the real youth was before him. He had lived long, would live longer still, but he could see the darkness that awaited him. He had looked upon his fibers and known it true and only hoped to see this sweet one grow older before he passed.

  The thought was pleasing, and he sighed, looking up at the deep blue sky, only hints of clouds marring it as it filled the horizon. Peace. Yet a small part of his mind nagged at him, a part that knew something wasn’t right, knew his life wasn’t nearing its end. He looked around again and sensed that something here was strange.

  With a flash of memory, he recalled standing before the Cala maah.

  There is no Cala maah.

  But he knew there was. He looked at the sun and squinted, blinking hard.

  This is not me.

  At that thought, dizziness swept through him again, and there was another soft pull at the back of his mind. He opened his eyes and saw he was in a different place. Grassy plains still stretched before him, but he stood at the edge of a forest, watching what played out before him. Part of him knew he could not interfere, knew that he and the others had forbidden to interfere, but it seemed a foreign part, unfamiliar to him.

  Before him, a wave of men swept forward across the plain, rushing toward something he could barely make out in the distance.

  There is another way. His nemerahl, Inilain, reached through, sharing what he saw.

  A wall, he realized. Surrounding… was that the daneamiin city? The wall was new; the daneamiin had never needed a wall before.

  That was before the attack, came the voice.

  What his nemerahl showed him was a city unlike any other the world had ever known; its beauty unmatched, yet now it hid behind a wall. Images of huge spires and open rooftops played in his mind, all of ivory white stone. Trees grew throughout the city, part of it. A lake at the center twinkled in the sun, crystal waters begging to be drunk.

  The daneamiin get the stone to move beautifully for them.

  More images played across his mind as a wave of men rushed to destroy the city. He recognized one man in particular rushing toward the city wall, anger in his face, and hatred burning in his eyes.

  He should not be here.

  Jakob knew the man should not, could not unless something had changed.

  The man certainly had changed from when they first met. Dark hair was no longer. A scarred dome all that was left.

  The face was too young for what Jakob knew he should be.

  How has he cheated death?

  The question came to him, and mixed with another. Where was this? He had seen no city like this, heard of no war like this. He had been with the Cala maah.

  The dizziness came again and the soft pull followed.

  He opened his eyes and saw a tall woman before him. A goddess. Something about her was familiar. He was in a small room, walls of smooth stone and the ceiling barely high enough for the woman.

  Sharna, he remembered.

  I have seen her, he remembered. His dreams.

  Of course I know Sharna, some other part of his mind answered.

  “You have much work to do, Niall,” she whispered to him, her words lilting and enchanting.

  Niall?

  He looked down and saw his strong hands, worn with years of work, but hands he knew were not his own. His clothes were unfamiliar, unlike any he had worn before. The breeches were dark, and tears exposed his legs to the cold air of the room. The shirt was little more than a blanket tied around his waist. He shivered, though not of cold.

  “You were accepted, Niall. Our cousins have seen that you have a dark path before you, but you must be successful,” she told him. “This blade was created to help. You may find use of it,” she told him, handing him a sword. “It is the key to all you do.”

  He took it slowly, recognizing the blade.

  It was his sword, though the wrappings along the hilt were missing, exposing the strange carvings along its side. He looked at them briefly, startled by what he saw, and looked back up at Sharna.

  “It is a powerful blade, Niall,” Sharna said. “Forged by those who have never used a weapon but now recognize the need.” She paused, her voice turning sad. “Much ahmaean was poured into its making.”

  He held it gingerly, testing its weight. It would do nicely, he knew. “Its name?”

  “Neamiin,” she answered.

  He looked at the blade. The name would do, was fitting. “It means many things,” he started, then looked up at Sharna. “Many vague. Am I truly fit to wield this?”

  She smiled then. “You are.”

  “You have seen this?” A humming, almost a buzzing came into his head. He shook it, trying to clear it, but could not. He closed his eyes against it, missing her answer. As he did, the dizziness returned, pulling at his mind.

  Visions came in quick succession then, and he recognized them as visions.

  His mother, time spent in his youth with her, times when the family still smiled. Then he saw her as he had last seen her—lying dead upon the floor. Sorrow he had suppressed from that time welled up inside him. Jakob saw his father, his face once smiling and young, quickly aged and became the Urmahne priest Jakob had known the last few years, before he too faded. Then his brother, once strong and vigorous, demonstrating a catah. It was a happy memory and he would have smiled except he knew what came next, knew that madness claimed his brother, stealing him away, turning him into something less than he had been.

  His head swam with the memories, overloaded by the rapid succession, yet they did not stop.

  He saw the raider attack when the Magi arrived, saw the Deshmahne attacking him and his sword impaling him. In a moment of clarity, he registered the tattoos snaking along the man’s arms. He saw the Turning Festival, the old woman, strangely familiar, and
the man he now knew as Endric. Jakob didn’t need to hear to remember her words; they had stuck with him, burned into his memory. Visions of the raider attacks on the Denraen, his practice with Endric and the Mage Roelle, and scouting with Rit flashed through his mind. The memory of the High Priest lingered longer than the rest.

  Then flashes of things he had never seen came. He saw the groeliin crawling toward a city in the distance, a horde of them so large their dark ahmaean filled the open plain, polluting and killing all that had lived there. Jakob saw flickers of movement and a battle, and realized someone fought them, someone resisted, and he knew without seeing that the groeliin had superior numbers.

  His head spun and dizziness hit him again. The soft tugging at the back of his mind came once more.

  There was Alyta alone in a dark room, walls all around, and no sign of a doorway or entrance. Something magical and beautiful radiated from her, yet her head hung low, and he sensed her sorrow. She looked up, aware he was watching, and turned toward him.

  Once he would have called her a goddess, but Brohmin had revealed the truth. She shared features with Sharna and Shoren, and was beautiful. She stretched her arms out toward him, and he saw something blemish her milky skin, but before he could see it clearly, dizziness overcame him.

  Suddenly, huge golden eyes appeared before him.

  They were familiar, and haunting, carrying the weight of knowledge and emotion.

  Jakob staggered back from them, afraid. A part of him recognized the creature, and he felt the gnawing at the back of his mind, the slow itch he had grown accustomed to during his travels, and he shook his head, but it would not disappear. The eyes blinked, coming to focus on him, and he felt something click inside him like the turning of a key.

  His mind felt like it caught fire, and he screamed.

  Then there was nothing. He looked but saw nothing other than blackness, no sound, no smell, simply nothing. It seemed to stretch on forever, unrelenting, a vast hollow emptiness. Was this all that was left for him? Had the madness finally claimed him fully?

  The dizziness returned. He fell, once again aware of his body.