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

by Sarah Ashwood

  Once I’m sure, I promised myself. Once I’m sure that’s what this is, I’ll tell him…

  I told myself that, even as I came upon the place the broad main tunnel branched off into five different passageways. Each of these, Braisley had informed me, spread out into five more of their own. I knew I was now in the Myriad Passages. Which way to go? What had Braisley said? I half-turned, looking from one end of the five tunnels to the other, trying to decide.

  Ah, yes.

  The middle tunnel. Shoving down my reluctance, I stepped into it.

  Few torches lined its walls, and I didn’t like the dark. Once more, time stood still. The passage was long and endless. My poor feet soon grew numb from the cool, worn stone. Every now and then a light breeze whisking around corners would find its way to me, wafting over exposed skin and leaving goose bumps in its wake. I longed for a companion, but I didn’t have one. This was something I must do alone.

  My world had been reduced to sporadic patches of darkness and light, shivers and shudders, shifting shadows and uncomfortable, chilly breezes by the time I finally emerged from the Myriad Passages. The tunnel’s exit had opened onto bowed walls of white stone, and I found myself standing inside a wide, bright circle. On the ceiling high above was a painted blue sky dotted with white clouds, complete with a cheery orange sun. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Who would have thought? A refreshing slice of the Upperworld found here in the Under.

  As the fairy had predicted, the passage I’d left connected with five more. These were arched doorways, set equal distances apart. Fashioned from brick, each doorway was lightly stained in soft hues of blue, pink, yellow, purple, and green. I took the green tunnel. Soon as I stepped across the threshold, I was engulfed in a wash of warm air drifting up from below. It was both welcoming and soothing: a relief after the chill winds in the last corridor.

  Thankfully, there were also more lights in this tunnel. By them, I could see black etchings on the walls depicting serene valleys and happy people in fluid motion. At times they ran, laughed, and played, or else rode winged horses through a starry sky. Sometimes they reclined on beds of grass so skillfully rendered the blades appeared to move, twitching in the warm breeze that ushered me down the tunnel. Some of the people slept—I could see the tiny fans of lashes on their cheeks and practically hear their gentle snores.

  I moved onward, overawed by this timeless, artistic beauty. The walls on which this artwork was superimposed were a quiet jade green, so soft it looked like green-tinted glass. Beneath my feet, the floor was the same. It was no longer cool to the touch but had warmed, its temperature rising to match the pleasant breeze. The farther I went and the more I saw, the more I found myself relaxing into the experience.

  I wonder why Braisley was so freaked out by my coming here, I mused. Except for the creepy Gatekeeper, it’s really not bad at all. I kinda like it. Just hope it stays that way.

  The corridor was descending. With each step, I was progressing farther and farther into the depths of this strange, underground world. I was an alien in an alien place, but I wasn’t afraid, and the wish for a companion had subsided. The pretty people on jade walls, the teasing wind gliding over and around my body, the warm floor—these were companions enough for me. I felt so peaceful, as though I could lie down and go to sleep; that if I slept for a hundred years it wouldn’t be long enough. I also felt that if I slept here until I grew old and died and my bones withered to dust, only to be scattered about by this pleasant breeze, it would be a happy fate. Who could want more than that?

  Warnings in the back of my mind flickered like the torches, cautioning me I was being seduced. I was in danger, they said: danger of being lulled into a false sense of security, lulled into a sleep from which I’d never awaken. The cries were annoying, persistent, and refused to be shushed, although I did my best to ignore them. I pressed on and started to hear water running from somewhere ahead. I was descending faster now, and the sounds of rushing water grew louder and louder. By the time the tunnel abruptly ended, the sound had become an earsplitting roar that helped mask how sharp the drop off really was.

  I jerked to a halt, stumbling back from the edge of the narrow shelf onto which the tunnel opened. Gasping, I grabbed the tunnel’s outer wall and stood perfectly motionless, gazing over the brink to the bottom leagues below. Vertigo hit, and I closed my eyes, breathing deep. After a few seconds that problem righted itself, and soon I was able to gather my courage and move closer to the edge.

  Awe filled my being.

  Crystal stalactites and stalagmites dripped from the ceiling or rose from the floor, winking in the unearthly light suffusing the enormous cavern. On opposite ends of the chamber, the formations met to form crystal pillars that stretched dozens of feet high. A waterfall gushed from an opening in the rocks high overhead, falling with a roar into a green pool on the cavern floor. Mist clinging to both the waterfall and the pool circled high in the air, curling lazily around glittering formations, while the chamber’s glassy jade floor shone slick and wet in the hazy light.

  I crept cautiously from the ledge and down the four stone steps to my right. These led out onto a walkway that hugged the wall and nearly circled the entire chamber. The footpath was narrow, albeit hemmed in much of the time by long stalactites suspended from the ceiling. When the walkway stopped, it dropped off into a long flight of stairs that also hugged the rock walls. It was for these stairs I headed: the only way down to the cavern floor.

  Beneath my feet, the path was worn smooth by time and travelers’ feet. It was also strangely warm and not from the wind. The breeze that had accompanied me down the green passageway had disappeared, as if once having escorted me where it wanted me to go, it’d done its duty and left. Where, I don’t know, but it was almost as if its effects still lingered. When I trailed my fingertips over a passing stalactite, glittering like a diamond in the pale light, I found it too was warm to the touch. In fact, the whole chamber felt heated by some secret furnace.

  The footpath I was on eventually led me behind the roaring waterfall. I stopped, letting the mist dampen my face as I passed my hand through the watery curtain. I didn’t mind the noise behind the watery veil. I actually lingered a while, reaching out to cup my hands under the spray and bring it to my lips for a drink. The water was pure and tasted of fresh springs warmed by the sun, of river torrents rushing towards the sea, of mountain creeks babbling over speckled stones. I drank my fill.

  Finally, reluctantly, I forced myself to continue winding my way towards the stone stairs. After stepping out on them, I’d descended no more than the first half dozen when another wave of sleepiness struck. For an instant, I wavered dangerously on the edge of the narrow step. Luckily, reflexes took over, jerking me back from the brink. I clung to the wall, breathing deep, trying to fight off the nausea, the fatigue.

  What was that? Was it deliberate?

  Even if it was, I couldn’t stop here. Flattening myself against the wall, I continued the descent. My long fingernails caught in the nearly imperceptible cracks marring the crystal walls. Still, I pressed on, bit by bit, until I ultimately, mercifully, reached the bottom. Safe, I sank gratefully onto the lowest step, taking the time to gather my wits while craning my neck to look back up the series of steep, narrow stairs I’d come down.

  It was a miracle there’d been no accidents such as a fall when that strange sleepiness had struck. What was that, anyhow? The Underworld itself attempting to sabotage me? Or did it mean I was getting close to the Vale of the Dreamers?

  I didn’t get to contemplate the mystery very long. All of a sudden, I thought, Singing. I hear singing.

  Seeking the source, I turned my head, and my gaze fell on the pool into which the waterfall fell. Yes, the singing definitely came from there. The singer was male. His lyrics were inaudible, but his voice was smooth and rich, capable of arresting attention and stirring emotions. Intrigued, I clambered to my feet and headed towards the pool.

  Seating myself on a
large boulder, I leaned over to gaze into the water’s tepid depths. At first, I saw nothing except undulating waves lapping gently at the barrier of boulders. Then, an undercurrent appeared between two ripples, shifting sideways beneath the surface of the water. It parted, wavered, blinked, and then focused, revealing a scene from above. Water slid off the plane of this otherworldly “mirror,” bubbling at its edges while I stared, transfixed.

  The singer was the Tearkin prince, Kurban. Although his back was to me, I easily identified him from the layered cut of his burnt-blond hair and the impressive width of his shoulders. He was in the stables at Laytrii’s palace, brushing the coat of one of the huge workhorses. To me, the animal was large as a Clydesdale and towered above my head. Compared to the Tearkin, however, the massive beast resembled a pony.

  Kurban sang as he worked, His movements were relaxed and unhurried, keeping pace with the tempo of his self-created music. His song of lost love was slow, sad, and poignant. Judging from the muted light filtering through the stable windows, I guessed the time was somewhere in the early morning.

  Indescribable awe kept my attention riveted on the mirror, but the awe was tainted with melancholy as I listened to the Tearkin’s song:

  Cold raindrops drip from leaves of trees,

  And she is not here to see with me.

  She who once this life did love,

  Has left me now to fly above…

  And her passing I mourn.

  My heart I offered, left at her feet,

  She did not hear its pleading beat.

  The rain now falls, and I am alone;

  The sad wind howls its anguished moans.

  And I cannot follow my love.

  The melody was haunting, intricate. The Prince’s voice maneuvered it deftly, and he sang with a sadness transcending the distance between us. Somehow, I knew these weren’t empty words strung to a minor air but his own personal heartache. Had he lost someone? To another person, or perhaps to death? Moved, I found myself wanting to reach out to him across space and distance.

  “It is sad, no?”

  The feminine voice broke into my quiet musings. Smothering a cry, I caught myself on the edge of the rock, twisting from the waist to see who had spoken.

  Heldwyn

  A smile brightened the face of the elderly woman standing next to me. Fine lines proclaiming abundant years of life framed her eyes and creased her cheeks. For all that she appeared harmless, I couldn’t believe Kurban’s song had taken me off my guard like that.

  “Who are you?” I demanded, half-rising.

  “No, stay. I mean you no harm.”

  She held out a hand, motioning me to resume my seat. Warily, I obeyed, watching all the while for any signs of danger. She certainly didn’t appear dangerous, but nothing could be taken for granted in the Underworld.

  With the precision of the aged, she lowered herself to a seat on the boulder closest to mine. Despite her obvious age, her shoulders were firm, her back straight, and her blue eyes full of life.

  “You are not from this place, no? Not of the Underworld? No, I thought not. It has been a long time, child. Many years, many ages, since any from above have visited this place. A long time indeed. And yet, I perceive you are no fairy. No, nor one of the foolish ones come to consort with beings of darkness. From whence do you hail? You have not the look of an Aerisian. What is your purpose in my keep, here at the Pool of Mirrors?”

  I frowned. “You ask a lot of questions. No, I’m not a fairy, and I certainly didn’t come here to do anything wrong. I’m not from Aerisia, either. Well, not exactly, anyway,” I amended. “What I mean to say is… well—”

  The sentence trailed off awkwardly, as I searched for some explanation that would skip the fact that I was the Artan. Braisley had warned me not to give the Dreamers more than they asked, but if they asked anything, I wasn’t supposed to lie.

  The Dreamers, she’d said, can discern any misconstruing of truth, for many Dreamers are themselves filled with deceit. Remember, you are sent to gain information from them, not they from you.

  Naturally, I had no idea whether this woman was a Dreamer or not; however, it was simply a chance I couldn’t take.

  “I’m from… someplace far away,” I finally managed, trying desperately to skirt the truth without lying.

  She wasn’t fooled. “I have eyes, yes? I can see this. You are not from Aerisia, nor from the Underworld. Therefore, you must be from Earth.” Something in my face must’ve lent credence to her guess. With a satisfied smile, she plunged on with her assessment. “Ah, yes. I see it now: you are from Earth. Far away… very far away indeed.”

  I smiled weakly. “I guess you’ve figured me out, then. Who’re you?”

  Self-satisfaction relaxed into her former friendly smile. “Why, I am the guardian of this place. Where we sit is the Pool of Mirrors. Through it, I am allowed glimpses of the Upperworld, above. This grotto is my keep: the Grotto of Crystal Life.”

  “Crystal Life?”

  She glanced about the cavern, her expression becoming serious as she explained. “The glint of crystal in these rocks, the green and jade of these stones… they speak of life. Of green, growing things in the world above, of sunlight sparkling on a cold stream, of new infants born to pleased mothers. Of the life lived by those above. Of the life we below once enjoyed—or would have, had the choice been to given us.”

  Sadness crossed her features, and I was suddenly sorry for her. Reaching out, I touched the back of her hand in a gesture of sympathy. She stared for a very long time at that spot, saying with an air of melancholy, “Yes, human touch. Long has it been since I have seen another human. Longer still to feel their touch.”

  “I’m sorry,” I offered.

  She waved aside my commiseration. “It is no matter. Many long years have I lived alone and will survive many more, no? It is not right that you concern yourself for me. My life, it is not so lonely.” She nodded toward the pool. “Here are my companions. When I am forlorn, they ease my loneliness.”

  Following the gesture, I saw the mirror that still reflected Prince Kurban in the stables and assumed such reflections were what she meant.

  “He is one of my favorites,” she went on, “my chosen ones. His singing… always, it softens my heart.”

  I chuckled, amused. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? On Earth, he could’ve been a star.”

  “A star?”

  “It means he would’ve been really famous for his singing. Lots of people would have known about him and come to hear him sing. Back home, we call people like that stars.”

  “Ah, because they shine so brightly and share their light with others.”

  “Something like that.” I smiled.

  She lapsed into silence, studying the image in the pool, and I felt some of the tension in my neck and shoulders dissipate. Surely if this woman intended malice she would have shown it by now. So far, all she’d exhibited was gratitude at having another person around with whom she could talk.

  “So you still haven’t told me your name,” I broke the companionable silence to say.

  Her thumbs twiddled in her lap, but otherwise she maintained perfect, straight-backed poise.

  “Heldwyn,” she replied. “My name is Heldwyn.”

  “And your house?” I questioned, referring to the Aerisian custom of placing a “Wy” or “Wis” before one’s last name. The former meant, “Son of the house of,” and the latter, “Daughter of the house of.”

  She shook her head. “We of the Underworld have no houses. There are no surnames in this place.”

  “How come?”

  She looked a bit perplexed. “How come?”

  “Why,” I clarified.

  Understanding dawned on her features. “Ah.”

  She left off the thumb twiddling to trail one finger in the pool, swirling languorous circles around and around the mirror. A ripple broke over the reflection’s surface, and it instantly disappeared, Prince Kurban’s exquisite music along with
it.

  “Those below are not as those above, neither are our customs alike.”

  “Well then, how’d you come to be here? Braisley told me the Underworld was full of spirits, fairy-like creatures, and people like the Dreamers who send and observe dreams. Which one are you?”

  She continued studying the water. “Braisley? The winged fairy of Cleyton?”

  “That’s her.”

  “She sent you to the Underworld, no? Why is this, I wonder?”

  The finger stilled as she awaited my answer.

  “I… needed to visit the Vale of the Dreamers. Braisley told me some things about the Underworld before I came here, although she didn’t mention you. She did say information about this place is a bit sketchy, though.”

  “The Vale of the Dreamers?” The look she turned on me was sharp, searching. Clearly, old age hadn’t dimmed this lady’s mental abilities. “You have dreamed a dream of some importance, no? Yes, surely it is so, for you have come to the Underworld to visit the Vale of the Dreamers. The meaning of your vision was hidden from you, hidden also from Braisley. Often she has the skill to interpret visions, or she did once. I assume she still does.”

  “Notwithstanding,” she continued, “you came here… to the Underworld. To the Vale of the Dreamers. Strange, no?” Gazing steadily at her own reflection, now mirrored in the pool, she murmured half to herself, “Strange. Very strange.”

  Sensing she wasn’t finished yet, I waited, saying nothing. The lines on her face shifted and re-shifted, doubtless echoing her thoughts as she seemed to consider some weighty decision. Since I had no idea what was on her mind and didn’t want to interrupt her train of thought, I kept quiet but took the opportunity to examine her further.

  For all the wrinkles outlining her features, her skin was soft and her blue eyes, an oddity in the world above, quite bright. White hair swept into a simple chignon on the back of the head gave her a matronly look. However, the dainty wisps falling delicately about her face and ears softened the stamp of years, lending her an almost youthful air.