The Redstar Rising Trilogy

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “Put her down!” Sora demanded.

  “Oh, found your voice, huh, wench?” The other guards pulled their swords halfway from their sheaths.

  Wench?

  Sora couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She thought Panping would be different, that somehow being in her own land, she wouldn’t suffer the same prejudices. Apparently, she was wrong.

  She felt the gentle tugging of Elsewhere from deep within, begging her to make the sacrifice necessary to burn the men to a crisp but she stifled it before it managed to take hold.

  “She is my friend, and you are hurting her,” Sora said calmly. “Please, put her down.”

  “Aye, that’s a bit better. But what if we want to keep her?” He turned to the other man. “Never ate dragon before, have you?”

  They laughed.

  Aquira squirmed, her muffled squeals somehow even more distressing than if she were permitted to howl.

  “Maybe we bring them both to the Overlord?” the guard said.

  “Supposed to call him Governor Nantby in public,” whispered the other. He had an incongruously small head and a pugnacious goiter on his neck.

  “Whatever,” said the first, running his fingers along Aquira’s tail.

  “She’s a wyvern,” Sora said, “and I think you’re making her angry.”

  “I know what she is, girl. And they aren’t supposed to be on the streets without a muzzle, by word of the Governor.” The guard, still laughing, leaned in and scratched Aquira under the chin. “Aw, is the little pest getting angry?”

  Aquira thrashed hard enough to shift the man’s grip so she could snap at him, taking a chunk off the man’s finger. He dropped her and swore.

  “Kill that little shogger!” he commanded.

  The other guard hesitated as Aquira reared back, spreading her wings wide. Her wingspan couldn’t have been more than a meter, but she still cut an intimidating figure.

  They gathered their nerve and began inching forward, Aquira let out a shrill cry, and a blast of flames burst forth from her maw toward the sky. Sora could tell it was restrained. Had she wanted to, Sora was sure the little wyvern could have burned them all in their armor and watched as their ashes filled the wind.

  Aquira flapped her wings and rose, hovering at about head-height, then screamed again.

  This time, the guards didn’t stick around. “Get that thing under control or else!” one yelled as they turned and ran down the street, nearly knocking each other over with the effort. Once they were a safe distance, Sora reached out and coaxed Aquira back to her shoulder.

  “Let’s go before they bring more,” she said. “And thank you for holding back on those creeps.”

  She squeaked what Sora liked to imagine as ‘you’re welcome,’ and then they continued into the bookstore. The door jingled on her way through, which startled Sora. She looked up to see a bell tied to a string in front of the door.

  Clever, she thought.

  “Hello?” she said softly. When no one answered, she called a little louder.

  Books were everywhere—on shelves, tables, stacked on the floor. More books than Sora had ever seen. The closest she’d ever been to such a library was in Wetzel’s shack, but those sprawled around the floor could have fit on one of the hundred shelves throughout the store.

  She strolled through, taking it all in, reading the spines of the books. There were stories as well as learning books. Another shelf had nothing but scrolls piled nearly to the ceiling. Most were in Panpingese, but some were in common, or... she wondered what they called her language here. Glassenese? Others still were in languages she’d never seen before.

  She stopped at a shelf with leather-bound tomes and fingered a few of them.

  “Hello?” she called again as she walked toward the rear of the room.

  She rounded a corner, putting the shelves behind her, and found another section of the store. More shelves lined the walls, but these had various artifacts resting on them. There were skulls and bones, jars, both large and small, filled with liquid, strange creatures floating within.

  Aquira hissed. Sora turned around and saw bottles similar to Wetzel’s potion bottles at an alchemy table. Within were concoctions, none of which Sora recognized, made with powders and herbs ground up using the mortar and pestle beside them.

  “Ah, I thought I heard someone,” said a voice from behind her.

  Sora’s hand instinctually fell to her knife as she spun around, bumping a shelf and causing a jar to topple. Aquira swooped down and caught it before any real damage could occur.

  The man laughed as he slid closed the translucent door leading to an adjoining room. He wore a robe similar to the doorman at the Winde Traders Guild, but this one looked expensive—judging by the patterned, gold threading.

  “I’m sorry,” Sora said. She glanced down, realized she still had her fingers wrapped around the grip of her knife, and quickly let go. “I called out, but no one answered.”

  “You’ve done nothing wrong, dear,” the man said. “Welcome to my humble shop. Are you finding things as you desire them to be?”

  His back was impossibly straight, hands folded behind his back. After the initial shock wore off, Sora noticed the resemblance.

  “Lord Bokeo?” she said.

  “At your service.” He bowed, which she found odd for anyone called Lord to do to anyone not a king.

  “I am—”

  “I know who you are Sora.” He took a couple of steps, smiled wide and said, “Aquira.”

  The wyvern flapped her wings and soared to the man. She purred and nuzzled up against his face.

  “Warm as ever, aren’t you?” he said. “Have you been well?”

  Aquira nodded.

  Sora’s mouth opened slightly.

  “Are you still sure about this one?” he asked Aquira who nodded again. “Excellent.”

  Aquira rose up again and returned to Sora.

  “Did you just…" Sora started. "Did you understand him?”

  Aquira squeaked and bobbed her head.

  “She understands?” Sora asked Lord Bokeo.

  “She does a lot more than understand,” he replied. “You are an extraordinary young woman, Sora.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, dear, there’s so much to discuss.” Lord Bokeo took a few steps and reached out, offering her his arm. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “That’s impossible,” Sora said, backing up. “No one knew I was coming here. No one. I came to tell you of your son’s unfortunate death, but apparently, you already knew about it.”

  “Knew about it? I’ve been expecting it.”

  The breath fled Sora’s lungs. “What?”

  “The Ancients have been waiting for you for some time, my dear. I knew—Tayvada knew that someday the gods would come calling.”

  “His death is the work of no god!” Sora bristled, thinking about Kazimir. “It was the work of a monster.”

  “All things are works of the gods.”

  Aquira purred, and Sora jumped. She had been so distracted by the man’s words she almost forgot the wyvern on her shoulder.

  “Relax, my dear, and I’ll show you the world,” Lord Bokeo said.

  It sounded like something Whitney would have said. She stood, mouth agape that a man across Pantego somehow knew her name, just as the demons in the Webbed Woods had.

  “I know this is a lot to take in, Sora,” Lord Bokeo said, stepping closer. “There is much you do not know, and much you will discover, but as it turns out, time is short.”

  “Short for what?” she said. “Do you not even care about your son’s passing?”

  “My son made the sacrifice expected of him. We all have our purpose, dear. That was his.”

  Sora grew frustrated. She’d wasted valuable time away from her quest to find out what happened to Whitney. All to give her best to Tayvada’s family and tell them how beloved he was in Winde Port. Apparently for no reason.

  “Tell me, what is
on your arm?” Lord Bokeo asked.

  “My arm?” she said, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation.

  “I mean upon your skin.” He inched toward her, cautiously.

  Sora pulled back.

  “Please, Sora, I mean you no harm,” he said. “Trust an old man. If you cannot trust me, trust your friend.” He pointed to Aquira.

  “I’m starting to feel deceived by everyone, including her.”

  “You cannot tell me you never suspected she understood your words?”

  Sora couldn’t deny it. The wyvern was either incredibly perceptive, or she took instruction through spoken language. The answer was probably both.

  Aquira whined and lowered herself to the floor.

  “Do not blame her,” Lord Bokeo protested. “She was merely following commands.”

  The wyvern nuzzled against Sora’s leg. Her warmth and the roughness of her skin oddly comforting.

  “Now, may I?” Lord Bokeo asked.

  Sora bit her lip and conceded. “Fine.”

  He moved close enough to roll her sleeve back. When the marks on the top of her forearm revealed themselves, she reeled back, but he tugged a bit on her wrist, straightening her elbow. Then he started to pull down her gloves.

  “Just as I imagined. What are these?” he asked, pointing to the scars.

  “None of your business,” she said. Ever since Wetzel allowed her to practice blood magic, she’d been self-conscious of the scars on her hands and arms. Not only because the Glass Kingdom outlawed blood magic, but because nobody else had them. It was hard enough to fit in as a Panpingese refugee in a small town raised by the town kook.

  “They are precisely my business.” Lord Bokeo walked toward the shelf housing jars of fine powders. He pulled one, seemingly at random, and returned to Sora. While he perused the shelf, she considered running away, but still, curiosity had her pinned to the floor.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “Will you trust me? I believe I possess the answers to all of your questions.”

  Sora nodded.

  Lord Bokeo unscrewed the jar’s cover and swirled the contents. “Stay still, even if it burns a little.”

  Sora flinched ever so slightly as he shook the contents of the jar onto her arm, careful to coat each scar. He was right, it burned, but she’d experienced worse pain every time she sliced herself to access the powers of Elsewhere.

  After the burning subsided, Lord Bokeo bent over and blew away the powder.

  Sora sneezed. When she opened her eyes, every scar on her arm and hand was gone.

  “What the yig and shog?” She covered her mouth. “Excuse me, I’m sorry, Lord Bokeo.”

  He chuckled. “It is fine.”

  Her eyes went wide, and she said, “Wait, you do magic?”

  “It was not magic, my dear. It is what learned men call alchemy.”

  “I know what that is.” She’d watched Wetzel brew potions and toxins enough. She'd rarely seen him perform any blood magic himself, but he preferred to think of alchemy in the same light.

  “Then you know that in many ways, it works like magic,” he said, echoing Wetzel’s sentiments. “But Alchemy calls upon the laws of Pantego and its elements. Magic breaks those laws through Elsewhere, and always it comes with a cost.” He took her other hand and revealed those scars.

  “So then, you know?” Sora said.

  “That you do magic? Yes, but those days are over. Soon, you’ll never need to mutilate your body again.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said. “I must do magic. I have to…” She was going to tell him of her need to see Whitney returned to this world, but remembered she had only just met the man, even if he’d somehow known her by name.

  “I did not say you wouldn’t do magic. But this barbaric way, this blood magic. That is the way of animals who would defile this world. You are above it. If you allow, I can make preparations for your training.”

  “Training for what?”

  “Your bond to Elsewhere is strong, Sora. The gift courses through your veins. It always has. We wish to teach it which veins to travel. Wetzel could only instruct so far.”

  Sora swallowed.

  Lord Bokeo smiled. “Yes, I know of the old badger as well.” He put his arm on her shoulder and led her to a wall with a painting the size of a man. “You’ve not been forgotten, Sora. The Secret Council has watched you for some time.”

  Sora was too stunned to fight his guidance. The painting depicted three Panpingese warriors dressed in blue robes. She wasn’t sure how she knew they were warriors, they held no weapons, but even in the painting, they bore a particular strength.

  Rolling his fingers along the edge of the frame, Lord Bokeo stopped toward the bottom. Sora heard an audible click. Rising, he gave the frame a hard yank. The painting swung away from the wall, revealing a stone staircase.

  “Come,” Lord Bokeo said. Aquira screeched and flapped forward, following him as he descended.

  “You expect me to follow you down there?”

  When no response came, Sora looked from side to side. All the room held were dusty old books, and there was hardly anything fearful about a librarian. She hoped. Regardless, Tayvada’s strange father clearly had a more intimate knowledge of Elsewhere, and that was precisely what she needed.

  She took a deep breath, then hurried to catch up. She did, however, have the good sense to keep her hand on her weapon as she did. She was about halfway down the dark stairwell when she heard a creak as the painting closed behind her. All the light disappeared except for a faint, bluish glow emanating from the bottom of the staircase.

  “Almost there,” Lord Bokeo said.

  “What is this place?” she asked.

  “It is the Dixia Shanyow, or roughly translated, The Underground.”

  “Dixia Shanyow,” Sora repeated softly.

  “Many years ago, even before King Liam the Conqueror arrived and sowed discourse amongst our people, the Mystic Council became keenly aware of a time to come where they would not be welcome with arms wide open as they had been for so many centuries.”

  They reached the landing which opened into a chamber of engraved stone. Great statues of beasts Sora didn’t recognize lined the walls on both sides. Water spewed from their mouths into pools, the ceaselessly rippling water, mesmerizing. In the middle, a platform bridged one side to the other.

  “Those are wianu,” he said, yanking her from her reverie. “The great sea beasts. Legend says they retreated when the Drav Cra expanded their tent stakes into lower Pantego. They have not been seen since the establishment of Westvale, their first city.”

  “They are…”

  “Beautiful,” Lord Bokeo finished for her.

  “I was going to say terrifying, but I suppose beauty can be scary.”

  “Yes,” he said, giving her a sidelong glare, “I believe that to be true as well.”

  “You were saying something about the Secret Council?”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, slowly proceeding across the bridge. He raised his voice over the gurgling of the fountains. “The Mystic Council decided it would be best to find quiet solace for a time, to bide time and wait for the age of Glass to fall.”

  “That could take centuries.”

  “For the remaining Ancients of the Mystic Order, centuries would be like days. They do not fear time and death the way the rest of us do. They can afford to wait.”

  “You mean to say they are immortal?”

  “Not exactly,” he said as they reached the other side. “They can be killed, but there are none outside of Elsewhere who we believe possess the power to do it. They went to great pains to survive after the culling of King Liam, sacrificing much of their power in this mortal realm to endure. All to ensure your future.”

  Sora assumed he meant the future of all Panpingese, but still, the words caught in the back of her mind somewhere as if they were intended only for her.

  Massive, stone doors stood in their path, intricate m
arkings covering both sides. Sora recognized some of the letters as the Panpingese alphabet, although she couldn’t say what any of the words meant. Other lines and circles created patterns and shapes, but if they represented anything, she couldn’t tell.

  “How are you involved in all of this?” she asked.

  “There will be much time to answer questions, although I believe you’ll find all your questions will be answered in short time,” he said. “To sate your curiosity regarding me, I am but a gatekeeper. My family was not blessed with the gift, my son especially, but our loyalty to the Council has never waned.”

  That explained why Kazimir didn’t take to Tayvada’s blood like a drug after he drained him. Before Sora could inquire further, Lord Bokeo raised his hand to the door and fit his finger within one of the engraved circles. Tracing it around, then to another, and then a straight line down to another series of loops. A deep growl sounded and shook the very stone upon which they stood. Dust billowed, and the door cracked open.

  “Speak only when spoken to, Sora,” he said. “This is very important.”

  Sora nodded. She wasn’t sure what else to do.

  Inside, she expected to see a giant, soaring cavern, but instead, it was a reasonably sized, circular room—twenty or thirty paces across. She followed Lord Bokeo to a raised dais the same shape as the room itself. The chamber was cold. Unnaturally cold. The chill pierced through Sora’s layers as if she were naked and even then, her skin did nothing to keep it away from her bones.

  She shivered.

  Lord Bokeo stepped up onto the dais and beckoned Sora to follow. He climbed. She climbed. When he sat in the center with legs crossed over one another, Sora watched.

  Placing his hands together, palms flat, Lord Bokeo inhaled, and in one breath said, “Lu hwan, oolanxio!”

  Suddenly, as if reality itself changed, Sora saw seven thrones materialize around her in a circle. She looked to Lord Bokeo, who held a finger against pursed lips.

  Turning back to the thrones, Sora now saw figures seated upon them. The one straight ahead of her wore a robe of blue, and the others wore yellow flecked with darker shades of yellow. All seven raised their hands and grabbed hold of their hoods, drawing them up, casting deep shadows over their faces.