The Sunset Lands Beyond (The Complete Series, Books 1-3): An epic portal fantasy boxed set

by Sarah Ashwood

  My study of the scene was interrupted by a long, clear trumpet blast. Instantly, Rittean was down on the floor.

  “Kneel, my lady,” she urged, tugging at my jeans.

  Obedient but curious, I lowered myself into a similar stance, while glancing up toward the Ranetron guards in their stone niches. They too had gone down on one knee, their foreheads braced against the hilts of their swords.

  “The High Elder arrives,” Rittean explained without raising her head. “He is Lord Elgrend Wy’ Relst, son of Mergrend Wy’ Relst, who was High Elder before him.”

  Lord Elgrend’s air was that of one long accustomed to authority. His back was straight, his chin lifted, and his green eyes steady. His long, violet robes were trimmed in gold, and in his hand he bore a staff similar to those carried by the Moonkind. However, instead of a glowing moon jewel clasped in a palm, at its top glittered a blood-red ruby imprisoned by wooden prongs. The man’s ornate sandals made little noise as he swept by on his way to the head of the Council table. There he was greeted by the spokeswoman in blue.

  With the barest dip of his head, the white-haired venerable replied, “My thanks, Lady Elisia, both to you and the rest of Council. I offer greetings as well to our Ranetron Pronconcil and to all those here assembled.”

  He swept the huge chamber with a look that encompassed everyone he’d mentioned. That look came full circle, lighting last of all on my companion and myself. “Peace to you, Moonkind Rittean, daughter of Moonkind Risean. Ever are your people welcome at Aerisia’s Council table.”

  At this, I dared to raise my head in time to meet the gaze he settled on me. The formality in his voice faded. Gently, he said, “Greetings, fair one. As our Artan, you are most welcome to our Council chamber, our homes, and our hearts. You are welcome to Aerisia.”

  Stunned, I rose slowly to my feet, only to discover my fingers were trembling and my brain lightheaded. What was going on? How did he know—what did this mean?

  To my further amazement, every last Elder and Pronconcil at that great table now bowed to me—to me!—before lowering themselves to their benches.

  Feeling a light touch to my elbow, I jerked my head around, meeting Rittean’s sympathetic smile. “Come, my lady,” she said softly. “The High Elder has spoken. You are welcome to the Council table.”

  The Council Table

  So I was led by Rittean Wis’ Curlm to the foot of Aerisia’s Council table where we stood, side by side, waiting to be addressed by the High Elder. He spoke first to my friend, his full, white beard parting in a fond smile.

  “Moonkind Rittean, we had anticipated the arrival of your father by now. Is he not in Laytrii?”

  “High Elder, my father departed Laytrii three days past,” she replied. “He is gone on mission to Treygon, seeking a Simathe for this lady by my side. He hopes to bring this Simathe to Laytrii for the approval of our esteemed Elders and Pronconcil, as well as yourself, my lord.”

  “Indeed,” the High Elder nodded. “We anticipate his coming.” He shifted those bright green eyes to me. “Ah Lady Hannah…long have I desired to look upon your face. As our prophesied Artan, you are our hope, our promise of the future. I see your doubts, but I say to you, be of good courage. In time, all will be made clear.”

  Be made clear? Nothing was clear! And I didn’t particularly care if it ever was. I didn’t care about this world. All I wanted was to go home. Still, since going home wasn’t exactly an option at the moment, I decided to play along for a while. If this was a dream—which, to my horror, I was beginning to doubt—maybe I’d wake up soon and everything would be back to normal. If not….well, I’d need all the information I could glean in order to stay afloat in this whacky place.

  “Um, greetings Elders, Pronconcil, High Elder and…everyone else,” I began hesitantly, feeling my cheeks warm at how ignorant I must sound. “I thank you for your welcome, but—but…” When I faltered, one of the male Elders smiled kindly, encouraging me to continue. “But as you said, things aren’t exactly very clear at the moment. Maybe you could explain where I am, why you’ve brought me here, what a Simathe is—this thing that I’m supposed to have—and who in the world this Artan person is. I assure you I’ve never heard anything about her, not even her name. What are these legends and prophecies that people keep referring to? Why would you think I could possibly be her, and when can I go home?”

  Despite my attempts to remain calm, my frustration became more obvious with each question. Rittean, sensing that I was upset, reached for my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, the action hidden by the dark folds of her robe.

  The white-haired High Elder rose majestically from his seat at the head of the table, staring me in the eye. Despite the weakness in my knees, I gazed right back. I would not let these foreign rulers see how confused, how weak, I truly felt.

  “Hannah Elizabeth Winters, for such was your name upon Earth, you have not been unknown to us while dwelling in that distant land. As the years passed and you increased in age and understanding, we have watched over you from Aerisia. When the time was deemed ripe, we dispatched our worthiest Moonkind, Risean Wy’ Curlm, to bring you hither.”

  An intense light flared in those pale green eyes, burning through layers of tissue and skin, setting my bones aflame. “You were brought to Aerisia for a purpose, my lady. As our promised Artan, you will fight The Evil which threatens us. You will, and you must make use of the gifts imparted to you in order to save our realm.”

  As quickly as it appeared, the light faded. The old man slumped onto his bench as if his strength had vanished along with it. His head drooped. After a moment’s pause he spoke again, but now his voice was quiet, tired.

  “In answer to your questions, we do not know when you may return to Earth. Certainly not until the darkness descending upon us has been vanquished.” Lifting his face, he concluded, “Your other questions I will instruct Moonkind Rittean and Lady Elisia to answer. Such is the will of the High Elder. Does Council object?” There were no protestations. “Very well, then.” Back to me—“You will be assigned a room in this palace, free to come and go as you please, but only after the Joining has taken place.”

  I turned to Rittean. “The Joining?”

  “A mere formality, and nothing to bother about,” she was quick to reassure me. A little too quick, perhaps. “Wait until my father and your Simathe arrive. You will be informed then.”

  “Wait a minute, the Joining has to do with a Simathe? What if I don’t wanna wait until he, she—whatever it is—arrives before I find out. In fact—” Steamed, I rounded on Council. “What I’d really like is for you people to answer my questions straight out. You’ve not only taken me from my home against my will, but so far, every tiny question I ask seems to open up six bigger ones. Will somebody please give me some answers here? How do you expect me to save this place when I don’t even know what the heck’s going on?”

  The Elders shifted, exchanging uncomfortable glances, until the Elder to my left, the one who’d smiled at me earlier, rose to his feet.

  “Clearly our lady Artan is not one to mince words,” he asserted with gentle humor. “Nor can I blame her. The problem, my lady, is that answers are difficult to come by when there are so many to be sorted out.

  “Go now to your chambers with Lady Elisia and Moonkind Rittean. They will clarify all that they can. Meanwhile, this Council has many important matters to discuss. We are grateful for your tolerance and your patience,” he summed up, bowing before resuming his seat.

  I heaved a sigh. “Fine, let’s go to my room. Maybe I’ll get more information with fewer people around. So if you’ll excuse me…”

  Unsure of proper etiquette, I sketched my own haphazard bow and spun about to leave. Behind me, I heard shuffling as those seated at the table stood to bow in return, but I didn’t look back as I strode briskly toward the same staircase which had brought me here. I hoped Rittean and Lady Elisia were following to lead the way once I departed the Council Hall, because I really ha
d no idea where to go.

  Moonstones and Doors

  Meanwhile…

  Throughout the twilight he rode, sustaining the pace he’d kept for hours. The hoofbeats of his steed had not flagged; they echoed as strongly now as at the journey’s commencement. It was a good horse, a strong one, a Restless: able to carry a rider many a mile and many a day without tiring.

  This journey, though, was nearly complete. Soon, they would reach Laytrii, chief palace of the realm and residence of every Aerisian Elder and Pronconcil, save one.

  Turning his head, he glanced at the old Moonkind, Risean Wy’ Curlm, who kept pace beside him on a borrowed ebony steed. A good man, that. Despite not being Simathe.

  The warrior’s black eyes flickered back to the dusky, tree-lined road. Darkness was falling, to be pursued by the rising of the moon. Lord Ilgard, High-Chief of the Simathe, hoped to reach Laytrii soon after.

  Once the vast doors of the Council chamber had closed beside us, I moved aside, allowing Rittean and the stunning woman in blue to take the lead. They guided me away from the massive double doors, selecting a different passageway than the one Rittean, the Ranetron High-Chief, and I had taken earlier en route to the Council chamber.

  So this is Lady Elisia, I thought to myself, observing the pair ahead of me. She’s gorgeous.

  She was like a porcelain goddess or a vision stepped from an artist’s dream. Tall and slim, she moved with a natural elegance. Her long, shimmering hair, pulled back into a loose braid, was interwoven with pearls and silver ribbon. The soft, strawberry-blonde tresses gleamed against the silk of her gown.

  From what I’d observed so far, this female Pronconcil was not unique in her ivory skin and reddish-gold hair. In fact, all of those gathered in the Council Hall to watch the proceedings had hair, skin, and delicate features akin to Lady Elisia’s. Men and women alike, they tended to be a fair-skinned race, from the young teens to the aged Elders, some of whose hair had turned from age. Only the Moonkind, Rittean and her father, Risean, stood out. Both had that odd hair of pure, pure white, and both had those incredible tropical water eyes…another distinctive feature of the Moonkind. The other Aerisians I’d seen all shared green eyes of varying shades.

  We walked in silence. The hallways were long, the walls adorned with murals and tapestries, while the floors were that familiar pink and silver marble. Candles flickered in elegant silver sconces, spaced at regular intervals upon the walls. From the length of our journey, I was beginning to wonder how I’d ever find my way around this palace—it seemed huge! But I said nothing of my worries to either of my companions. Secretly, I hoped to be gone from here long before I’d ever have to worry about circumnavigating this enchanted structure.

  At last we stopped. The hallway dead-ended at a large oak door, round, with no visible handle or doorknob.

  Okaaaay. How am I supposed to get in and out?

  Then—“Querdo,” my Moonkind friend commanded, and to my astonishment the door swung open.

  Interesting.

  I tucked the strange word in mental storage in case of future need. As soon as we’d stepped fully into the room, the curious round door slammed shut behind us. Nobody had touched it. Shocked, I spun around.

  “Was it supposed to do that?”

  Rittean laughed, unconcerned. “But of course.”

  Her equanimity helped calm me, and I decided to let it go. Amid all the wonders I’d already seen today, a door closing on its own was hardly the weirdest.

  The room we’d entered was neither large nor small, but was elegantly appointed with tasteful, comfortable furnishings. Soft twilight filtered in from an open doorway leading onto a small balcony beyond. Besides this, no windows, lanterns, or obvious means of obtaining light were to be seen. My sense of unease reared itself. I’d never liked the dark, not since…

  I shook my head to dispel the memory. I had enough on my mind without grim recollections crowding their way to the surface.

  “I hate to be a bother,” I spoke up. “But is it possible to get some candles in here before we start our little talk? I don’t really like the idea of sitting around in the dark all that much.”

  “There is no need for candles.”

  It was the beautiful Pronconcil who had spoken. Her voice was low pitched, musical, and every bit as charming as her outward appearance. I wondered what her singing voice was like.

  She waved her hand in a graceful arc before her face. “Light,” she said, and instantly the entire chamber was flooded with light from a source high above my head.

  I glanced up. An ornate chandelier, dripping with crystals, hung from the ceiling by a draped, golden chain. Dozens and dozens of candles or light bulbs or something provided its light.

  What are those things? Mini moons?

  Incredibly, they were the same tiny moon jewels adorning the staffs carried by Rittean and her father. They sparkled in the chandelier, driving away the darkness and filling the room with luminous, ethereal beauty.

  “Rittean, what are those?” I asked breathlessly. “I’ve seen them on you and your father’s staffs, and now they’re here on this chandelier, too. Are they a source of light, magic?”

  My friend smiled. “Moonstones…they are moonstones, my lady. At times a source of magic, at times a source of light. At times, they provide both.

  “Be seated, my friend,” she continued, waving me to a nearby couch. “The Spinner and I shall impart to you the legend of the moonstones and, to the best of our abilities, answer any other inquiries you might have.

  Legends and Lore

  “So, where should I ask you to start?” I asked as soon as we were seated. “The legend of the Artan? The Elders? The Simathe? There’s so much I need to know.” I paused, considering. “Maybe you should start with yourselves. Tell me, what exactly is—or maybe I should say who exactly are—the Moonkind? And what about you, Lady Elisia? I don’t mean to sound rude, but what are you? And how did you get to become a Pronconcil?”

  After stealing a sip from the goblet she’d already poured, Lady Elisia set it aside to answer.

  “Many years ago,” she began, her voice as sweet and intoxicating as warm wine, “the citizens of Aerisia were an erudite people, well versed in the stories, the legends, the history of their land. Tales of valor, chivalry, and romance flowed through the generations, passed from father to son, mother to daughter, and so on and on throughout the years.

  “Alas, as so often happens, with the progression of time our lore slowly began to vanish. People forgot, no longer recalling the days of old. Wiser heads, those who valued what had gone before, knew something must be done. Council assembled, hoping to formulate a plan that would halt this forgetting, this erasing of our valuable histories.

  “Ultimately, the course they agreed upon was to visit the Spinners, who dwelt some miles east of Laytrii’s palace in the Valley of Flax. They live there then and now, you see, because the flax growing in this valley is the best to be had for the Spinners’ craft of weaving and sewing the finest of items.”

  “Are you talking about those curtains and draperies in the room where I woke up?” I broke in. “They were beautiful.”

  Lady Elisia smiled in return. “Every tapestry, every curtain, every pillowslip, every coverlet in this palace was made by my people, the Spinners. They were our gifts, many years ago, to High-Chieftess Laytrii in recognition of her valor. Their equal is not to be found in all the land. Not only are they of the greatest beauty, but the fabric of the Spinners never ages, rends, or tears. Always, it is as you have seen today—perfect.”

  Although her statement could’ve been boastful, she said it so matter-of-factly it didn’t come off that way. Nor did Rittean’s expression or body language say anything different. Apparently, the Spinners’ skill was famous.

  She went on. “But to continue my tale…the Elders dispatched emissaries to the Valley of Flax to speak with Iseldra, who led our clan in those days. The wisest Spinner of her time, she was revered then and no
w by those who recall her wit, her intellect, and her perspicacity. Mere days after Council’s dilemma was related to Iseldra, she sent back a reply: Hope is not lost. I have discovered a method of preserving our precious histories and legends.”

  “What was her plan?” I asked.

  “It was simply this: the history of Aerisia would be woven into rich tapestries, tapestries which—by the magic of the Spinners—would stand the test of time. These selfsame tapestries have hung since that time in the palace’s great tapestry hall, accessible to all, nobleman and commoner alike. Indeed, upon reaching their fourteenth summer, all Aerisian children—both male and female—are required to pass a year in studying these tapestries and learning their secrets. Thus has our history been preserved and the stories of our land enshrined in our hearts.

  “Unfortunately,” she digressed, a shadow creeping over her face, “this is a custom that has fallen out of favor with the masses. The poor need their offspring to work the fields; the rich believe their business ventures worthier of their children’s time than viewing musty tapestries.”

  Her elegant nose wrinkled in distaste, and I could imagine an artist’s indignation over such an appraisal of a truly phenomenal work.

  “However, unlike so many, we Spinners have never forgotten. Novices in our institute must learn the ancient tales and then weave their own tapestry portraying the incidents of their choosing. We understand that Aerisia’s greatest wealth is the preservation of her history, her legends, her lore. Upon our shoulders has fallen the burden of safeguarding them, and it is a duty we take most seriously.”

  “Aye, most seriously,” broke in Rittean. “My father says you should not ask a Spinner whether the day be fair without expecting a history lesson in response.”

  I half expected to see anger flush the Spinner’s porcelain cheeks, but she laughed merrily. “Well met! Unlike some, Master Risean appreciates the value of history. Numerous and engaging have our conversations been.”