Aerthen Sight

  The Lost Talisman Series: Prequel

  K. A. Gandy

  Thigpen-Gandy Publishing

  Copyright © 2022 by K. A. Gandy

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

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  Aerthen Sight

  Saolf paced with restless determination through the deepening night, his mottled gray cloak pulled tightly against the evening breeze. The time-scraped walls of the ravine towered above his head, casting shadows in the wan moonlight. He wound further and further down, eyes trained on the narrow path and knees bent against the steep incline. A keening call pierced the air, and the fine hairs on the back of his neck rose in response. He paused, breathing quiet, as he listened to gauge his distance from the creature. Predators roamed at night.

  Several moments of silence passed, and he resumed his winding journey. In time, his soft-soled shoes found flat, cool earth beneath them. He walked through the damp brush, the moisture gathering at the hem of his cloak, darkening it nearly to black by the time he reached his destination. Just there—a shadowed sliver in the ravine wall. He paused again and let his keen hearing filter the night sounds. Chirps from small insects and a distant trickle of water over stones reached his ears and, in one heartbeat, he tucked himself into the gloom of the crevasse.

  The enveloping blackness soothed him, and after shuffling a few feet, he was able to straighten and walk further into the tunnel. It opened into a small, low-ceilinged chamber that marked the beginning of his descent. His feet trod ahead as if they could see the path of their own accord, untroubled by the lack of light. Echoing footsteps were his only companions as he followed the path by memory. His predecessors had led him here many moon revolutions past, and his soul-deep bond with the Aerthen light would lead him back unerringly for the rest of his days, despite the great distance he must travel into the earth.

  His mind wandered and cool damp air caressed his skin as he made the journey down, and he turned over the problems of the land that brought him here. The magic wasn’t regenerating as it should. When the old died, their power didn’t return. The new babes born had weaker and weaker magic, and some could barely move a pebble at their awakenings, where their ancestors used to shift mountains. The Aerthe magic was strong below, he knew from experience. So why was the people’s magic fading, and where was it going? In time, the narrow passage gave way to the heavy emptiness of a wider space, and a soft glow resonated throughout an enormous cavern. Saolf’s eyes skipped over grandiose stalactites, unimpressed with their age and beauty. There was nothing that could divert his feet from their destination. The pull he felt grew stronger, like an anchor in his gut dragging him closer with every foot deeper he descended.

  He breathed in once, sharply, and tasted magic permeating the air. So close, sweet Aerthe. Saolf’s blood thrummed through his veins with the excited buzz of magic, and his steps worked more quickly to bring him to that most sacred, holy place. Across the hulking cavern and tucked around a bend, the light shined brighter as he drew near its source.

  Saolf slowed; his hands reached out on instinct, and ran along the walls, met not by smooth stone, but gnarled roots overlapping in a tangled mat. The first brush of Saolf’s fingertips along the knobby surface sent a frisson of electricity through his veins, and he smiled, a brief parting of lips at the reunion with an old friend. The magic within him unfurled and danced in his center, tantalized by the earth’s power present in the roots.

  The light grew brighter and brighter as he pressed on, to the very heart of the earth. The tree roots thickened on the stone walls until no more stone was visible, and the magic hung so thickly in the air now that each breath drew it into his very being. By the time the luminous crystal blue-green pool was visible, he was saturated with its magical pull and basked in its glow. He paused, as he always did, to drink in the glorious sight before him.

  The small space pulsed with life, yet lay utterly still and calm. His eyes roved over the walls where the interlacing tree roots formed a womb of sorts, with the life-giving pool nestled under its protective cape. Despite the thousands of years of lore his people had for this place, none told which came first—the Aerthen tree or the bottomless pool cradled in its roots.

  With great reverence, he approached the hallowed pool. Its surface was smooth as glass, and the bioluminescent glow stung his eyes after the empty black of the tunnel, but he didn’t care. When Saolf was a scant two paces away, he stopped and shed his shoes. After he stepped out of them, he crossed the final distance, and peered down into the mirror-like depths. No matter how many times he was a supplicant of the pool, the first full sight of the Aerthe magic caused his vision to swim. The Aerthen pool was wider than the arm span of two tall men, and he could see everything, and nothing, in its depths—the roots twining above his head, his own gray cloak and hazelnut hair, shorn close to his head in the druidic way. The emptiness beneath was a mystery, and many a novice had refused to enter for fear of being swallowed up by its fathomless depths. But not Saolf. He knew the pool in a way that others did not, and his instinctive trust in it had never proven to be misplaced.

  To seek the answers his people needed, he would once again commune with the pool. It was an honor, and a sacrifice. The Aerthe was life itself, knowledge itself, the past and the future rolled into a single, unknowable truth. But to receive its knowledge, one had to remain set apart, and give much in return. One day, it would prove more than he had left to give, and the pool would consume him. Would it be today? Saolf hoped not, for the decline of his people ate at him, and he longed to set right whatever was causing the deep rift in the land’s magic. If he lacked strength and was unable to withstand the pool’s pull on his magic, the land would continue to suffer.

  Aerthe. The word reverberated in his skull, and he found he could wait no longer. Pushing the gray hood back, his breath left him in a rush as he placed his foot into the pool. There was a slight resistance, and then his toes sank past the tension on the surface. Cool water enveloped his foot, though not a single ripple marred the glassy surface of the pool.

  He waded in deeper and deeper to the middle of the pool, unable to determine what held him afloat, besides magic. The only thing his skin could feel was water, yet it held his weight so that his neck and chin were above the surface. Were he to look down, he knew that he’d see nothing beneath him except the liquid depths. It defied natural law, but here in the earth’s embrace with the heartbeat of magic throbbing in the air, Saolf had no more questions, only awe in his weightless bones. He gazed up at the central knot of ancient roots above his head, his body alive with the thrum of magic, and he waited. He trained his mind on the flaw in the power, the failure of the natural cycle. Even the sounds of his own breathing faded to nothing, so intense was Saolf’s concentration.

  Time held no meaning here, and he couldn’t say if he waited ten minutes, or ten years in the earth’s embrace. Eventually, he felt something tug at the tips of his toes. The barest siphoning sensation, as if his life force was leaking from a pinprick at the tip of his largest toe. Rather than panic, Saolf smiled as the Aerthe leached into him, and he into it. The hazelnut color of his hair faded to silver and the irises and pupils of his eyes were swallowed up by glowing white. As the siphoning sensation ceased, he smiled once more as the water closed over his head, and utter stillness returned.

  Flashing images assaulted Saolf’s senses, unintelligible and chaotic at first. It was always this way, when the Aerthe bestowed a vision on a mortal mind. He breathed in and out with practiced discipline, forcing his frantic pulse to calm and allow himself to be sucked into the roaring flow of magic. Like a leaf caught in a turbulent, swollen river, he made himself small and still. The stream of magic blinked, and in the next instant he was inside the vision.

  Blood clung to village walls like lichen, and screams rent the air. Heat buffeted him, and he felt searing pain along one side of his head. His eyes roamed the scene, and he watched as a group of five magic users slaughtered a group of people outside their small village. Their eyes were dead and cold, and the villagers fought with everything they had to no avail.

  A wail built in his throat, but Saolf knew from experience that no one would be able to hear him. Past or present, he was a bystander, unable to change the grim outcome for these people.

  One man with gore-spattered russet hair stood firm, the last bastion of defense between the five men, and the clustered stone buildings he sought to protect. With his companions dead all around him, the fury in his eyes shone even brighter, and he didn’t cower or flinch at the impossible odds. Feet planted in the blood-soaked earth. He drew a massive ball of flame between his hands. Even at a distance, Saolf could feel the blistering heat on his face. How the man could be so close and not get singed, Saolf didn’t know.

  “Surrender, Gamin! There is nothing more to be gained from the loss of your life here today!” the magic user in the middle shouted.

  The fire wielder hefted the writhing flames above his head, sweating and straining at the amount of energy required to call it.

  “This is your last chance. You could be one of us, or you can die like cattle with the rest.” His tone was arrogant, in spite of Gamin’s immense display of power.

  “I may die, but so will you. And I will gladly protect those I love with my dying breath.” His words held no fear, only staunch determination. Sweat soaked the back of the ro

ugh linen shirt he wore, and still the massive ball of fire grew over his head.

  “So be it.” All five magic users raised their left hands high into the air as one, and a golden beam shot forth from each of the palms straight at Gamin.

  He launched the massive fireball at them, and the two distinct magics roiled and hissed as they brushed past each other in mid-air and arced towards their targets.

  Screams and the scent of burnt flesh filled Saolf’s nostrils as he watched, riveted in sorrow as the golden beam seared through brave Gamin’s chest, and his lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

  Light flooded Saolf’s senses, and his shallow breathing was loud in his ears as he was swept into the next vision. When the light faded, he was in a candlelit room, back pressed against a rough-hewn stone wall. Low moans grabbed his attention, and a woman in a small bed drew his eye. She clutched her distended abdomen and cursed under her breath as she curled in on herself.

  “Where . . . is your father . . . where is the . . . midwife . . . where . . . is the . . . valen root for this pain.” Her groans punctuated the pauses in her beleaguered tirade, and Saolf’s heart clenched in sympathy for her plight.

  Her rant stopped at a timid knock on the door. Heaving herself up on one elbow, she bellowed, “Stop lolly-gagging . . . and GET. IN. HERE!” She moaned deeply and fell back to her side on the bed. A dark-haired woman of middle age entered and swiftly shut the door behind her.

  “Mina, please, I know it hurts, but you must try to keep silent. You know what will happen if they discover your babe.” Her hushed tone was urgent, rebuking.

  Mina growled through another wave of tightness in her belly, but accepted the reprimand. “Where is the midwife?” Her question was quieter, but strained.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know. Things have been quiet from the village; we’ve had no news for three weeks. I—I’m afraid something’s gone amiss.”

  Unease built in Saolf’s chest, but he had no way of knowing if the village massacre he’d just witnessed was the same village. This could be hundreds of years apart in time.

  “When I get this baby out of me, I am going to find my husband and rip . . . his . . . head off!” She let loose another string of expletives followed by a keening cry of pain.

  “Oh, Mina, it’s going to be okay,” the mousy woman promised.

  Before Mina could reply, angry fists pounded on the wooden door.

  Both women’s heads snapped towards the intrusion as Saolf was sucked away by the river of time.

  Once again light assaulted his senses, this time with a tinge of pink, and a rosy sunset coalesced before him. He stood on top of a bald mountain, with wind lashing his cloak against his body. A shimmering teardrop-shaped opal the width of his forearm rested in the middle of a field of cold gray stones. Veins of pink striated the exterior, and it gleamed and pulsed in a way he’d never seen before. Saolf took an involuntary step forward, but magic pulsed in the air around him, pushing him away from the glorious stone, and rooting him in place. The gentle curve of the land created a massive bowl, and he heard voices from beyond the far lip.

  Snapping his eyes in that direction, he held himself stock still lest he be pulled back from the vision before he found out why he was brought here. It would be many moon revolutions before he could return to the Aerthen pool, for the journey was long and arduous. Besides, there were no guarantees the light would choose to show him this scene again, and he had a burning need to know about the enchanting stone.

  The voices drew closer, and pebbles sliding down the far lip of the mountaintop preceded two travelers. A young woman stumbled over the edge first, her hair a shining auburn mass in the waning sunlight. A tall male elf cleared the rim of rock with lithe grace behind her, and she grumbled under her breath.

  “You make everything look easy, and I kind of hate you for it.”

  He snorted with derision, but didn’t respond to the jab.

  “I just feel something—” She stopped in her tracks as her eyes landed on the enormous opal. The girl quickly stumbled across the field of stone, eyes fixed on the gem and not her path. She slipped, and her knee crashed painfully to the small rocks littering the way. “Oh, gods above. Really?”

  The elf reached down and effortlessly lifted her to her feet, a strange pendant swinging from his neck with the motion. She ignored the fresh gash in her knee, bleeding steadily as she hobbled the last few steps across to the enormous opal. She froze, eyes locked on the jewel.

  “That can’t be it, right?” she asked, the tremulous question barely audible even from Saolf’s position.

  “It’s much larger than most talismans . . . but there is only one way to know for sure.” The elf’s voice rang with confidence, but his eyes held a shadow of doubt.

  The young woman squared her shoulders and held her breath as she extended her hand, inch by inch towards the smooth, pink-and-gold-flecked surface of the gem. The instant her palm kissed the stone, the ground beneath them shook forcefully, and a blinding white light flared from the surface of the opal.

  A feminine gasp ricocheted around the mountaintop, but before Saolf’s vision recovered from the stone’s magical flare, the white Aerthe magic surrounded him and snatched him back into the stream of visions.

  Saolf opened his eyes to another battlefield, and his heart sputtered with pain at the horrendous sight before him. The ground he stood on was littered with ash, and he could see three armies at a distance, with numerous bodies strewn across the ground between them. Flashes of magic tore through the air, striking from vast distances, and the ground creaked as it was manipulated by earth movers.

  He watched in dismay as the armies used everything at their disposal to wreak destruction. Boulders flew, bolts of lightning zapped, and great twisters rent the air and carried soldiers away with them. Hours seemed to drag on, filled with tortured screams that Saolf was helpless but to observe as the people tore each other to shreds.

  Above the din of war, the sound of large wings beat through the air. He turned left and right but couldn’t identify the source of the sound. Directly above the endless battle, an iridescent pink dragon dove from the clouds and snapped its wings out at the last moment to stop its rapid descent towards the clustered people below. The great beast let out a mighty roar, and gooseflesh pebbled on his arms at the sound.

  Saolf let out a shocked exhalation. Dragons haven’t been seen for centuries! He watched with rapt attention as the dragon dipped and dove, harassing the armies without making contact. The ranks started to dissolve as the back rows of soldiers bolted for cover from the careening dragon. Eyes peeled, he watched with rapt attention as the creature puffed steam and buffeted the ground with every beat of its enormous feather-tipped wings.

  The dragon seemed content to cause more fear than damage as it cavorted through the sky, until one of the armies made a fatal error. Out of the midst of the green-clad army, a gray boulder came flying directly at the beast’s chest. It dodged and spun, and for the first time its back was towards Saolf as it executed the maneuver. With shock, he saw a person, flaming red hair flying out like a banner, clinging to the dragon’s back. With a bellow, the dragon unleashed a column of fire into the midst of the green army.

  Time warped as a sucking sensation tugged at his knees and pulled Saolf from the vision once again.

  Eyelids leaden after the painful length of the last vision, Saolf felt stiff from his head to his toes, and the next vision took longer to solidify before him. I’m beginning to fade! Is the dragon the key? He forced down the panic and willed his muscles to loosen once more and surrender to the flow of magic. Painstakingly, the center of his vision began to solidify. He could place his location, and the edges of the vision remained blurred, no matter how hard he squinted. He once again saw the dragon, no longer in flight. It was perched menacingly behind a girl of no more than twenty. It’s roseate scales glinted as the long neck undulated with irritation. Fangs dripped with saliva that sizzled and steamed against the grass where it landed. Despite all of that, Saolf’s eyes were drawn to the young woman with the blazing eyes and flame-red mane, who appeared barely old enough to be past her magical awakening. However, what his senses felt defied what his eyes saw. Magic surged in the air to a level he’d never felt save from the Aerthen pool itself.

 

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