Marked (21 page)

“It was completely destroyed? Not even a hint of it remains?” asked Kayti.

“Unfortunately, it was completely demolished. But one trace has endured: the last reference, the mysterious runes in the subbasement. I cannot unequivocally assure it, but I am convinced the symbology is that of the Ilenians. I’ve been studying the few remaining traces of that enigmatic civilization for a time. It is my second great passion—the first being my vocation of faith, of course. I am convinced that both the monolith that was destroyed as well as those inscriptions are connected to the advanced civilization that long, long ago ruled the continent, vanishing one day from the face of the earth with no explanation or apparent cause. A mystery that no one has been able to solve,” the young priest explained, clearly energized and fascinated by the subject.

“All right, Preacher, let’s go see that strange inscription, then,” suggested Komir, indicating with a sweep of his arm that the priest should lead the way.

They got to the first basement and, after picking up a few provisions, continued down to the second basement. The strange inscription they were looking for was chiseled into the floor just as the priest had described it. None of the three could figure out what the inscription meant; the symbology was completely unintelligible to them.

“Any idea what this means, Father?” asked Komir.

“I am sorry, but I have tried unsuccessfully for years to decipher it,” apologized the priest, lowering his head.

Komir moved in close to examine the arcane inscription and suddenly felt an unusual sensation, like a soft whispering inside him. A voice, muffled and mystifying, was murmuring something to him in an almost melancholy tone... calling to him from faraway... reaching out its ethereal arms toward him. First, it came softly—almost imperceptibly, then little by little the whisper was becoming more audible, forming a continuous and melodic sound, like a soft song.

What is going on here? What is happening to me? What is this whispering?

He looked at his companions but they did not seem to hear the sound coming from the enigmatic circle drawn on the floor. Unaware, they were having a lively chat about the mysterious Lost Civilization. Komir kept listening, devoting every ounce of his attention to it. An idea was slowly beginning to take shape in his mind... a key... the key to breaking the arcane code... He unconsciously brought his hand to his neck, where...

His mother’s medallion hung.

He now raised both hands to his neck and unfastened the heavy oval medallion as his companions looked at him quizzically. Holding the medallion in one hand by its long, golden chain, he approached the circle carved into the floor.

Nothing happened.

After a few moments, the medallion’s black gem emitted a bright golden flash.

The symbols on the floor responded with a weaker golden flash.

“For the love of the Sun and the Moon! Sorcery!” exclaimed an astonished Hartz, positioning himself on-guard.

Komir kept the medallion suspended over the circle and the strange inscription began to change color, becoming the color of gold itself and shining even more brightly. They all watched, transfixed by the stunning symbols. A circle of the same golden hue began to form on the floor around the inscription. A moment later the circle emitted a blinding flash and sank into the floor with a thunderous boom, creating a path to the great beyond; opening a gate into something hidden and dark.

“Incredible! Splendid!” exclaimed the priest, vibrating with enthusiasm. “The medallion activated the inscription—and it revealed an entrance! Apparently it’s imbued with power... That medallion must be the key into the world of the Ilenians!” rambled the priest in a flurry of excitement over the miraculous event they’d just experienced. He immediately glanced into the threshold of the arcane gateway that had opened up before them on the floor. “There is no knowledge of a third level to the basement in this tower...” he warned, trying to keep them—and himself—from getting overexcited.

Kayti stared at the magical object Komir was still holding. The young Norriel noticed her looking at it and instantly gave her a stern look.

The Initiate of the Custodial Brotherhood looked away. 

“I don’t think that hole in the floor leads to any basement,” she said as she pushed a long, curly red lock of hair away from her face. “I don’t know what is down there but it was sealed shut by some magical power and now we’ve just opened it...  I don’t know if it’s prudent of us to go in there, into that darkness, without knowing what we’re up against.”

“I completely agree with her,” said Hartz, crossing his arms and taking a step back. “I don’t support sorcery or magical arts, and lately we’ve been having way too many unpleasant encounters with both. I don’t like it one bit... not one single bit,” he grumbled.

“But we can’t pass up the chance to look into this!” exclaimed the priest, a twinkle of excitement in his eyes. “Who knows what relics we might find down there. Traces of a civilization that precedes ours! This could be a discovery of enormous significance. There could even be... treasure!” He quickly made the sign of the Light, joining together the palms of his hands.

“Riches, eh? I like the sound of that better...” said Hartz.

Komir contemplated the priest’s elation as he looked at the dark medallion. Dark... dangerous... He finally hung it back on his neck.

“This Dark... Medallion... I don’t trust it. I know that what waits for us down there is dangerous, so I will not ask any of you to go with me. But I need to discover what else there is behind all this. I have to keep going. I’m going in,” he declared.

“You aren’t going anywhere without me, pal,” stated Hartz. “I’m going down, too. So let’s hope there isn’t anything magical down there. For the love of Iram, our Mother Earth who protects us—there had better not be anything arcane down there!” he cursed.

“If you’re going, I’m going, too,” Kayti volunteered.

“Well, then... let’s go!” cheered the priest animatedly as he hurried to take down a couple of torches that were hanging on the wall.

Komir, Hartz, and Kayti readied their weapons and adjusted their armor. They lit the torches, and the priest and Hartz each took one. Then they began to lower themselves down through the enigmatic door. Lastly, Kayti descended, her red hair disappearing into the darkness of the opening.

With a resounding thud, the circle sealed behind them.

The column of Royal Lancers rode uninterrupted for two and a half weeks, focused and alert, resting just enough so as not to push the animals harder than they should. Finally, they set up camp in a hollow next to a stream with crystal-clear waters that silently ribbonned through the steppes. Rising proudly in the distance was the natural barrier of trees that marked the beginning of the immense forest of the Usik.

Lomar had already managed to figure out most of the mystery surrounding them. He knew who the man in the opulent armor was. Even though by day the knight wore a helmet with the visor closed to keep from revealing his identity, or more likely to hide from the Nocean spies, when they camped by night he took it off. And though his face was hidden beneath a hood, Lomar and Kendas—discretely taking turns—had succeeded in figuring out his identity. The surprise the two rookies had uncovered had been tremendous.

He was none other than Prince Gerart himself.

The heir to the throne of Rogdon.

And that had not been Lomar’s only discovery. One of the nights when they were camping and he was on watch, he caught a glimpse through the screen of one of the tents as one of the horsewomen was laying hands on a companion who had fallen ill with a fever. Lomar, astonished by what he was seeing, realized that the woman was actually a Healer from the Temple of Tirsar. After witnessing that act, it was clear she possessed the Gift of Healing. And when he saw how the other horsewomen behaved around her—noticeably showing her respect—he deduced that they must be Protectress Sisters who were accompanying her as bodyguards.

Once he had figured that out, he continued watching them closely. Deeply intrigued, his curiosity about those women had only increased as the expedition progressed. One of them in particular—a young woman with long, untamed, jet-black hair and emerald green eyes that took his breath away.

He had heard her companions call her Jasmine. Her beauty, coupled with the skillful way she handled the bow, had greatly impressed him. He desperately wanted to meet her, even though the situation they were in did not seem exactly favorable for that. But Lomar was not about to give up; his curiosity was getting the better of him. He scanned the encampment, looking for the beautiful warrior and found her stringing her bow, a small distance away from the rest of her sisters—which was not usually the case.

Lomar decided he should take advantage of the opportunity and, gathering his courage, he quietly walked up behind her.

“Spying again, Lancer?” she said, turning her head and looking straight at Lomar with those cat-like eyes.

Stunned, Lomar stood stock-still, two paces away from her, not knowing what to say or do.

“Spying? Who? Me?... I wouldn’t think of it... How could you think such a thing of me?”

“Ha!” she exclaimed with a smile. “Even being caught in the act you can’t admit it; defending yourself like a child with his hand stuffed in the cookie jar. So very virtuous of you.”

“Surely you’ve misunderstood...”

“Drop the line, Soldier; I’ve seen you spying on us every night since we joined this expedition. You never take your eyes off us. Are we that fascinating to you?”

“Well, I must confess that... Yes. You are very intriguing.”

“Intriguing? Ha! You are funny, Lancer. We are Sisters of the Order of Tirsar—nothing more, nothing less. There is no mystery in that.”

“Uh, well, I would never dare to contradict you, Miss, but allow me to assure you that, for this humble Lancer, you do indeed represent an enigma.”

“You can dispense with the gallantry of the capital, Lancer. It won’t work with me. I’m not some rich simpleton from the city who can be tricked by your gentlemanly guiles.”

“I see, Miss, that you are a woman who openly expresses what she thinks. That is surely a great virtue if there ever was one.”

“No need to be so formal, soldier. I’m not from some noble lineage; I am nothing more than a simple soldier—just like you.”

“As you wish, my lovely young lady,” said Lomar, taking advantage of that moment to step in front of her.

“All right, so what is it that you want, Soldier? As you can see, I am busy tending to my weapons.”

“We can begin by introducing ourselves, if you don’t mind. My name is Lomar. And you are...?”

“I would guess you already know that. With all the spying you’ve been doing, you probably even know the color of my uncle’s eyes. But I will be polite. Jasmine is my name.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jasmine.” Ignoring her sarcastic comments, he offered his hand with a broad smile.

Jasmine accepted the gesture as a warrior would, by holding his forearm.

As their arms touched, an odd nervousness instantly washed over Lomar... Feeling the closeness of this beautiful, dark-haired young woman’s body, an excitation arose in his stomach and suffused his body. This was a sensation to which he was not accustomed, and it startled him.

“So? What is it that you want? Make it quick—I have a lot to do and wasting time with a
man
is the worst thing a Sister can do.”

Lomar realized he needed to come up with a topic of conversation that would break down the icy barrier this girl had built up between them. He improvised.

“Nice bow... Yew... Excellent quality. It must have a range of more than three hundred paces...”

“A Lancer who understands bows—now that’s a novelty. I always thought Royal Lancers only knew about horses, lances, and whores.”

Lomar looked offended. “This Lancer in particular knows about a bit more than that.”

“More about prostitutes and good-time girls?”

“You obviously have me confused with someone else.”

“I doubt it. All you Royal Lancers are the same.”

“Do I note a certain resentment toward us, or is it just my imagination? What could we possibly have done to offend such a lovely lady?”

“Ah, yes! There is that gratuitous gallantry again. Don’t bother; I have absolutely no interest in your attentions. You can turn yourself right around and go back to where you came from.”

“Are the Sisters always so unfriendly? Or did I offend you somehow without knowing it?” 

“It’s nothing personal. We distrust all men equally.”

Lomar sighed in exasperation. “For a second there I was almost flattered. I thought the disdain was directed at me in particular.” He smiled mischievously.

“Very subtle. I see you have quite a nimble mind. But don’t get too excited since I am already starting to hate you even more than we usually despise people of your sex.”

“And may I ask the reason for all this hostility?”

“You’re men—that’s why.” 

“But do you really distrust all men?”

“Yes. Nothing good ever comes from a man.”

“You leave me speechless. But what could my gender have done to offend you so badly?”

“Wars, rapes, killings, destruction... shall I go on?”

“You cannot condemn all men for the acts of a few. That would be like saying all Royal Lancers are killers when, on the contrary, we are men of courage and honor. There is no regiment more honorable in all of Tremia.”

“If you say so .  . . But all I see is a fistful of men with weapons ready to shed another man’s blood, just waiting for the order to be given, men whose motives we know nothing of ...”

“But that’s not fair. You also carry weapons and I’ve seen you practicing—you are consummate warriors... You, too, fight and spill blood.”

“Ah! But our motives are very different. Our duty is to defend the Healing Sisters and that is what we do. We only shed blood in defense of our Sisters, never for dark or unknown motives. We do not fight in wars; we do not participate in armed conflicts. Our responsibility is to protect the Order and the Healing Sisters so they can do good, heal the wounded and the sick, and bring relief to those who are suffering.”

“A very laudable purpose, I must admit.” Lomar lowered his head, feeling the sting of shame.

It was true that he and many other Lancers had enlisted in the corps of the elite looking for glory and fame, looking to go into battle and become heroes by fighting and spilling enemy blood. After hearing the surly warrior’s allegations, his motives now seemed rather mundane, and not all glorious.

“And tell me, Soldier, do you really believe that if women governed Tremia there would be so much death and destruction?”

“Although I have had the unfortunate pleasure of knowing a few seriously bad-tempered young ladies, I have to admit that you are probably right. Men are more prone to violence; I do not deny that. But that is no reason to hate all of us!”

“Fortunately, that is our prerogative,” responded Jasmine with a wily smile. 

“I see I am losing this dialectical battle. How might I convince you that, in spite of the fact that I am a man, I am not a bad person—I even possess a small amount of virtue?”

“And what would you need to convince me for? What are you hoping that will do?” she replied, her captivating green eyes gleaming.

“I am only hoping for your friendship, you can believe me. I don’t know why we can’t get along well; after all, we are all in this together.”

“The Order wisely teaches us not to trust men and their motives. Experience tells us that, in the majority of cases, their motives are lecherous and lewd—or, at the very least, not terribly admirable.”

“I can assure you that in my case that is not how it is. Nothing could be farther from the truth!”

“Relax, Lancer. I didn’t say those were your intentions. But that is usually how it is.”

“I promise you, even if I am rather curious, my motives are noble and pure.”

“Ha ha ha! Noble, maybe. Pure? I’m not so sure,” laughed Jasmine.

Hearing her laughter, Lomar realized that his intentions toward her might not actually be as pure as he had made himself believe.

Another Protectress Sister approached them.

Lomar tried to greet the stern-faced woman, but she completely ignored him. It was as if he wasn’t even there.

“Let’s go, Jasmine. It’s time to eat.”

“Great. I’m starving.”

The two warriors turned and walked toward their group, ignoring Lomar who, with his greeting still on the tip of his tongue and a strange sensation in his stomach, watched them walk away.

In spite of the fact that during the conversation there had been no encouragement on her part, and the beautiful warrior could not have been less interested, Lomar felt a pleasant tingling inside. After just a few moments had passed, he felt a sudden urge to talk to that little spitfire again. He didn’t know why, but she had made a strong impression on him. His racing heart had him totally disconcerted. He was still watching her walk off.

Jasmine was strolling hand in hand with her companion, and when they reached the rest of the group, she discreetly turned her head and looked back at him just for an instant. Their eyes met for a brief moment—which made Lomar smile—and the hope that perhaps he would be able to talk to the young Protectress again came rushing back in.

Lost in his thoughts about the Order of Tirsar and the feelings Jasmine had caused in him, he walked back to his friends in the encampment.

“How are your investigations going, Lomar? Did you find out anything else about the Prince and the beautiful Healer’s mission?” asked Morgen, one of the veteran Lancers, as he hungrily gobbled down his camp ration.

“I get the feeling that we will soon be going into the forest of the Usik in search of something important. I think something fishy is going on...” he acknowledged, trying to push Jasmine out of his mind.

“I hope you’re wrong, for our sake,” Morgen replied.

“Why do you say that?” asked Kendas. He took a sip of water from his canteen.

“He’s saying that because if we go into those woods, we are dead men,” affirmed Lemus, another of the veterans, the scars on his face and arms testifying to his years of experience.

“You heard Sarge this morning. We’re going to go in silently—they won’t even know we’re there.” said his companion, trying to cheer him up.

“We’d better be prepared; those savages are tough to beat—really tough,” warned Morgen, digging into his food.

“And they’re bloodthirsty. They have the horrible habit of burning their prisoners alive after yanking out their eyes,” Lemus explained.

“Is that really true or are you teasing us?” asked Kendas.

“As true as my pay disappearing in the blink of an eye on whores and sweet Nocean wine.”

“Then why don’t we sweep the forest with the army?” asked Lomar.

“They’ve already tried that—no luck,” Morgen explained. “The problem is that those woods are immense; they cover a vast area, practically the size of an entire nation. Going in there means a bloody fight against the savages and the elements. We are at a clear disadvantage in there; that’s their realm. Those green-skinned devils with painted faces are incomparable fighters in their own environment.”

“What about attacking their settlements while they’re sleeping?” suggested Lomar.