In the Realm of a Dying Sun ~ Chapter I

It is nestled in a blackened vale.  Therein lay those rank waters, curse and stifled with decaying grace.  The once-glorious Well lost to the lust of mankind, corrupted in confidence, desecrated in selfishness.  Concentric pools rise into the darkness, each tier a standing memorial of what was lost.

Some called it reprisal for our deeds, and others called it the will of the gods.  The eternal darkness of this land destroyed whatever source our plague originated from. 

         We left our duty; we abandoned the gods.  Our mighty civilization was swallowed up in the course of a year.  That is what they tell us.  We are to repent in hope that we will someday discover the light of our ancestors, that our sin be erased and our salvation come to hand.

         I do not believe such things.  The world I know is dark, it is cold, and it is inescapably fragile.





Amberlin felt the familiar strings of her instrument cut into her fingers as they aligned to create her favorite chord.  She blew her bangs away from her face, breathing deep and concentrating.  In her other hand, she drew a bow across the strings, filling her empty home with a stirring tone.  The music was drawn and long.  It pulsed a message of contrast--things that differ, things that change, and things that balance.  There was a terrible sadness there. 

         It was a Soul Song.  According to her Shama, every person has within them music that resonates true to them alone, and when Amberlin played this melody something true about herself played at the edge of her consciousness.

         Her Shama had been gone for too long.  She was beginning to think that something might have happened to her. 

         Shamas were Guardians, devoted in finding  children lost in the darkness and raising them.  Amberlin's Shama had found her as a young child with no memory or past.

         The young girl laid her instrument softly on her cot, venturing into the kitchen with a lit candle.  The water basin was empty, only a small pool of dark water lay at the bottom.  Her pale reflection looked back at her, revealing her worried features.  She felt the stabbing pain in her side, knowing she needed water soon.  She had put off the trip to the well for two days, rationing the remaining water.

         The well was not too far away, but she dreaded the world that stood outside her door.  Her Shama always went for the water, and she was supposed to be back by now. 

         Amberlin stood, mounting her courage.  She had waited long enough and needed water.



A raven watched from a crooked branch, his glinting eyes trained intensely on the girl below and the fire-light in her hand. 

The lone girl stood resolute, her finely sculpted features enhanced by the lantern.  She hovered at the threshold of her home, listening to the silence awaiting outside.  The little doorway framed her figure against the inky Forevernight, the lantern light subdued by that foreboding darkness.  She bit her lip nervously, took a tentative step and listened.

         Only silence.

         The girl closed the door behind her.          

She pulled a cloak about her form, her breath alight in the lantern’s flame.  Hesitating, she shuddered, pausing to argue with herself over something before taking another step.  While the young girl went along, she held the lantern aloft, casting the occasional glance out of the edge of her vision.  A chilly breeze ruffled her cloak and she shivered.  The trees around her groaned softly, and she counted steps under her breath.

         The raven arched his back, withdrew his wings, and descended a few branches closer.  Jumping from tree to tree, he followed the girl, never letting her out of his gaze.

         The girl stopped and glanced up suddenly in the raven’s direction.  Her face was pale.  For a fraction of a second it seemed that she looked straight at the raven, but he knew his black body was invisible among the branches.  The raven continued, ever as focused in following the girl.  From tree to tree he flew, using the higher branches where he could watch but not be heard.

         The girl was holding something.  Something the raven had not seen earlier—a water pail.  She clung to the metal handle tightly, its cold biting into her thin fingers.

         The girl came to a shallow clearing.  Here, the dark trunks of the surrounding trees encompassed a small stone well.  Drawing to the well’s edge, she sat the lantern on the aged stones.  Her hands worked the well’s pulleys, the bristled rope grating against her hand like tree bark.  She was careful to not look into well.

         In few moments the water bladder emerged from the well—empty.  The girl looked at it, disbelieving.  She slowly peered into the well, dropping a stone into the shadows.  Her hands clutched the edge as she watched the rock disappear and listened.  The stone knocked against the walls as it fell, and eventually a dull thud met her ears followed by silence.  The well was empty.

Worry riddled her features.  How could it be empty? 

         There was another well, but the girl knew the perils of using it.  There were reasons why her Shama had instructed her to gather water from this well. 

         The girl looked around, scanning the underbrush as she made sure nothing had crept into her vicinity.  These trips exhausted her nerves.  In the Wild, people disappeared.  The land was torn by what had happened, and in its tatters the foulest creatures of the earth flourished.  The girl had never seen another being outside her Shama.  She had never left the safe refuge of her home, save for the purpose of acquiring water and the herbs that grew nearby.

         She thought about going to the other well—the well in the ruins.  She knew the way, even though she had only been there once, she would never forget that unnerving feeling the ruins gave her.

         The lantern grew darker.  She had neglected the candle encapsulated inside.  In an instant, it went out, leaving a pinprick of the wick’s last, glowing ember.  A chill ran through her and she felt the darkness spring at her and envelope her in a cocoon of silence.

         Then there were noises.  At first there were a few, then far too many to surmise.

         Why did she not replace the candle?  Her Shama repeatedly told her, always it lit.  Her fingers felt for the lantern on the well’s edge.

         Something growled.

         Her hands moved frantically over the stone edge.  Then she hit the lantern, it went careening into the well, crashing loudly against the sides.  Her blood ran cold.

         She could feel them around her, they were everywhere.  Their eyes, alit with their own unnatural flame, gleamed menacingly in the dark.  She could hear their breaths, haltered and lusting for the taste of flesh. 

         The girl was against the well, her hands shaking convulsively.  She screamed as first claw tore into her, slicing into her waist.  Her voice pierced the darkness.  She fell to the ground, pulling her cloak around her like a shield.  Their nails, sharp as filed blades, tore through it.  Hot breaths bleated into her face.  She screamed again.

         A flash suddenly blinded her eyes, shrinking her pupils into infinitesimal dots, and her ears screamed in agony as a screech pierced her skull. 



*  *  *  *



A guard rapped provokingly on Leah’s cell bars.  A rotting hand slid from side to side, the exposed, bleached knuckles created an echoing click-click-click in the unlit chamber as it passed over each bar. 

         Leah watched from the shadows, his expression blank—just as it had been for the past seven-hundred and fourteen days.  Though he was tortured, he showed no emotion.  Though he was sick, his visage was calm.  He had waited two years in this prison, and he would continue to wait.

         The skeletal guard chided Leah in a rasped whisper.  The undead servant might be foolish to wear on Leah’s temper, but he was certainly intelligent enough to know that if he was too loud, if he called the attention of the keep’s master, if he incurred Her wrath, his single-threaded existence would be severed.

         It was damp here.  A constant dribble of water fell from the aging ceiling, dappling the algae-covered stones.  Leah had made a small pool from carefully arranged rocks in the eastern corner of his cell, as the chain shackled to his leg only permitted him use of the north and east corners.  The water was cool, but sometimes in ran red with the blood of the cell above him.  He knew because he could hear the screams.

Leah’s stomach churned, as he watched the cell door, knowing that another of the Lady’s servant would soon be along with Leah’s nightly rations.  It was also the only time he saw light, by the candle of the servant.

         The guard thrust his arm, or rather—the decaying remnants of a limb—through the bars, dangling a slender key.  It was a game the guard played, trying in vain to entice the prisoners to jump up and try and take it from him.  Leah fell for the game his first day in this prison, but never again.  His eyes narrowed; if he truly wanted to escape, he could.  Leah was here by choice, however.  It was he who had sold his soul, and it was he who had relinquished his freedom.  Some things were worth it.

         Footsteps met his ears, the guard jumped eagerly to meet the servant.  The two of them gossiped every day.  Leah would eat his meager ration of scraps and listen to them quietly—his only source of news.

         The Lady found a girl.

         Another one?  Leah shook his head, how many had the Lady destroyed?

         This was the girl.

         Leah rolled his eyes, so had been all the others.

         She has the mark.

         Only the rhythmic dripping of water sounded in the doldrums of silence. 

Leah listened intently to the dead servants, his heart hammering.  The Lady knew of the mark—that was news to him.  A far as he knew, he had been the only person who knew of the tell-tale signature.  This changed things.



* * * *



Dark things flit through the sky.  The sky is black at first, but then it changes to something else.  Like a million distant candles, tiny pinpricks of light, materialize in the Forevernight.  They are dynamic, churning and drifting, but not really affecting anything definite, more just...being.  And there is the sun.  Ah the sun—glorious and bright, it lights up the sky like the fierce blaze of draconian breath.

         The girl opened her eyes.  Her head swam, thoughts jarring and scattered.  She was lying on a stone floor, cold and damp with moisture.  The room was lit by an eerie green aura that seemed to originate from no natural light.  It was cavernous, but confining all the same.  Something about it worried the girl.  She rose shakily, her cool breath lingering before her.  She turned to face the breadth of the room, clutching her gashed waist.

         The chamber was long and shadowed.  Deep stone walls created disconcerting recesses every pace or so.  The girl shivered and glanced behind her.  She needed to leave.  She wasn’t supposed to be here.  Where was the door?

         Something whispered.

         The girl’s skin prickled and she sought for the source of the sound, eyes wide.  There it was again, from across the room.  Down the long chamber she could see a light, bright white, a perfect square of it.  Strange whispers echoed faintly towards her.  She nearer slowly and began to speed up as if something was following her.  Her boots scraped against the stones as she went towards the light.  The whispers grew louder, and more frantic.

         She stopped.  The light in front of her was not a doorway, nor window.  It was a white marble slab, about waist high.  The structure glowed unnaturally in the dark room.  The girl’s eyes were fixated on it.  The whispers rose up as she drew nearer.  They seemed to call her, to beckon her as little flurries of light played across the surface. 

         The girl reached out a hand.  Her fingers inched closer, trembling.  Her eyes were aglow and captivated.  As her fingers drew near, the voices became excited; the whispers cascaded over one another in frenzied crescendo.  The girl heard the warning in their tone, the desperate cry of pain and agony. 

         “Quite eager, my pet?”

         The girl whirled around and caught her breath.  A boy stood before her.  Her age.  His eyes were sunken, dark and shaded by the down-turned brow.  He would be quite handsome were it not for the cold tinge in his eyes.  His raven hair was wry and unkempt, just like his clothing, once formal, but now tattered.  He, however, had an air that spoke otherwise, as if his appearance was as stately as ever.

         She stared at him unmoving, the first man she had ever encountered outside of a book.  His eyes held her fixed.  Her skin prickled.

         “What is your name?” The boy looked at her with mild curiosity.

         The girl looked nervously.

         “Tell me your name,” there was something different in his voice.

         “I am called Amberlin,” the girl said, the words slipping off her tongue as her voice echoed in the chamber.

         “Give me your hand.”

         She felt her muscles move mechanically; her arm come up, and her hand alighted on his.  His hand was like fire.  A fierce pulse burned beneath the skin, she could feel his blood working.  He pulled her near suddenly, his other hand gingerly pulling at the left shoulder of her dress, revealing a small patch of Amberlin’s skin.  The boy brushed her shoulder with a slender finger.  She felt something flicker through her—maybe the sharp pain of him clenching her hand?

         Suddenly he let go, stepping back with a smile.  “Lay down on the stone.”  There was eagerness, an impatient canter, in his voice.

         The whispers poured into her head, begging her to run.  She shook her head and his eyes darkened.  The room drew cold.  Amberlin’s breath swirled.  The boy moved closer.

         “You will do well to obey.”

A wall of air collided with the girl, flattening Amberlin against the stone table.  Her legs buckled and she fell, her skull connecting with the stone.  Her eyes blurred in pain. 

         Tendrils of soft white light curled around Amberlin, whispered screams echoing in her ear.  Leave this place …leave now…run Amberlin…

         She tried to wrest herself from the slab, but phantom hands pressed her down.  The girl jerked and struggled uselessly, wishing very much that she had not left her home.

         A smile curled in the corner of the boy’s lips.  Amberlin tried opening her mouth to scream but found her jaw clenched tight.  She closed her eyes and pulled at her limbs, willing them to move, imploring herself to run.  The whispers shouted into her ears, echoing in her head.  She could feel the boy’s presence, fell him drawing closer.  He began whispering something Amberlin could not understand.  Not to her, but to the room at large.  His deep tones blotted out the other voices, so that they receded, giving way to his.  He withdrew a silver dagger.  Amberlin could see her reflection in its polished surface plainly.  The boy’s words were strange and spoken with a tone one might use when reciting Rites.  Her Shama taught her the Living Rites, the laws of existence.  One Rite came suddenly to mind—the will of divinity.  She felt her body warm and her blood flow to her chest.  The divine still cared for their children, they would not let her die; they couldn’t.  Amberlin beseeched them, calling on the goddess of darkness, the very same who had plunged this world into the perpetual shroud that even now clung to the land.





The Lady sat in her dimly lit chamber, scores of candles twinkling brightly in her cunning eyes.  She held a book in her lap, but was preoccupied with looking across the room.  There was no door to this chamber, no hallway, not even a hidden passage.  There was, however, a window, a great, expansive window that arched into the high ceiling.  This window’s dark and mirror-like surface rippled gently like the skin of a black pond. 

         The Lady looked away from the window, her eyes straying to the rest of her attentively arranged room.  Shelves lined all of the walls, filled with herbs, vials, books, and ambiguous masses that might have once been small creatures or various parts of them.  She had procured the ingredients for her formulae and tonics from all over Valterra.  There were rare substances here, things that only existed in minute quantities or only for limited events of the lunar cycle.  They were her pride—manifested in all those ingredients that she knew no other conjurer in the world had. 

The window suddenly quivered, drawing itself up like a dripping curtain.  A dark form was barely visible in the night sky as it came straight through the opening—the raven.  He landed in the Lady’s chamber, dark eyes glinting.  Across the room, the Lady stirred from her armchair, closing the tome in her hands softly.  She sat the book on the ground with care and rose.  The candles in the room flickered momentarily, and so did the Lady’s eyes.

         “What have you brought me pet?”

         The raven ruffled its feathers, hopping down from the window sill.  The Lady conjured a silver cauldron from the floor.  The vessel filled with a dark liquid.  The raven flitted about the room, taking ingredients from here and there and depositing them into the brew.  It was careful and perfectly selective; the Lady admired the fowl’s skill and smiled at its cleverness.  The raven even added mint sprigs for balance—brilliant.  A hazy mist poured from the cauldron.

         The raven alighted on a perch next to the Lady, ruffling it feathers proudly.  The woman stood, staring approvingly into the cauldron.  She bent lower, gazing into its depths.  The corner of her mouth curled into a smile and twitched.  Her hand shot out and clutched the raven, its brittle bones snapping under her vice-like fingers.  The raven let out one earsplitting shriek as she plunged its twitching body into the potion.



Leah shivered, the sweat from his fit-filled sleep still clung to him.  He drug himself to the edge of the makeshift pool at plunged his hands into the cold water, bringing it to his trembling face.

         She was the one.  He had been there, not in body, but in conscience, and he had seen.  It was her.  He smiled, thinking of the shock on Serdiirn’s face when the girl vanished from the alter.  The gods must still care about the future of this world, care enough to protect a girl far out their domain.

What did this mean for him? He massaged his temple slowly.  How did this help him?  Of course… But the girl was barely old enough to understand her worth…  He stopped.

         Staying in this cell was no longer necessary. 

There was something worth his while out there.  Drawing himself to his full height, Leah walked to the door of his cell, the shackle that had bound him lay uselessly against the wall.

         “Guard,” he whispered.

         Across the thin passage, Leah’s guard stirred and rushed over—clearly annoyed at haven been interrupted from sleep. 

         For a split second the guard stopped, rotting eyes realizing the missing shackle, a bind that was also meant to be a lock on any residual powers the prisoner might have retained.

         A black jet of matter pulled itself from Leah’s body, shot through the cell bars like water and engulfed the skeletal guard.



From the library, Prince Tristan ji Morgan the Third watched the sun peak over the black mists surrounding the royal estates.  To say Prince Tristan was in the library would be tantamount to an enormous falsehood; much rather, he was on top of the library.  It was the best view of the sunrise—in Tristan’s opinion—and offered the greatest amount of peace, not that his life was in short supply of it.

         As he stared, he toyed with a sword that lay across in his lap, running his thumb along the edge—not hard enough to draw blood, but just enough to feel the bite.  Below him, black vapor twisted in an endless sea that stretched far beyond sight.  It was the shroud that engulfed the land, save for the few structures that rose above it.  To those that lived in the Forevernight, it seemed that the sun never rose, but, in truth, the sun was simply obscured by the treacherous fog.

Tristan placed the sword in his belt and climbed up to the peak of the library’s roof, where a gazebo-like structure was mounted.  Its panes shined like crystal facets in the morning sun, each window aglow with ochre glaze.  A single window stood open, Tristan shut it as he jumped down into the little room.

         From here a person could look out upon the world from on high in every direction.  In these times, however, it was only sky that was worth seeing.  The Prince sighed and descended the spiral steps to the library proper. 

A clock tick-tocked in the open hall, softly reverberating of the walls as Tristan made his way across the dark expanse of the library.  He stepped carefully over the creepers that had grown unchecked across the elegant family rugs and ancient runners.  The vines snaked through the whole library, so much so that it now resembled a forest more than anything else, and in some places, sweeps of moss had replaced the carpet.  The Prince gingerly picked up a book from the floor.  Hundreds lay scattered about, as if, during its final days of use, there had been a great panic, dislodging books from the shelves in great cascades.  Squinting at the volume’s spine, Tristan read the title.  He closed his eyes and muttered under his breath as if counting.

Tristan carried the book in a very determined stride across the hall.  He passed vine covered furniture, an overturned bookcase, windows that were just above the shroud below, and came finally to a sweeping staircase that spiraled below.  Down was only blackness.  Each step was another into the oblivion of Forevernight.  Tristan plucked a lantern from the edge balustrade.  The lantern’s wick lit seemingly of its own accord the moment that The Prince’s fingers touched the cool handle.  He began his descent, feeling the cold of the shroud creep into his bones.  An eerie silence met his ears as he reached the bottom step.  The lantern light barely cast light beyond a single pace, and as Tristan started into the room, its glow illuminated a growth of plants and objects more wild and unkempt than the floor above.  Black masses loomed out of the distance: broken shelves, rotted globes, a rusted astrolabe…

He stopped at a book shelf, checking titles.  Despite the wreckage of the room, the books on this shelf, and the others, were in wonderful condition.  They were dusted, organized, and lined up so precisely that no book stuck out farther than the others.  The Prince pointed at the books as he scanned their titles, crouching low as he went down the shelf.  He sighed and shook his head, walking round to the other side of the long structure, where the same immaculate order triumphed.  At long last he found what he was looking for and bent to a kneel, setting the lantern next to him as he carefully placed the book he had carried from upstairs into its proper sequence on the shelf.  He gently pressed the spine until the volume lined up perfectly with the others; Tristan stood back and smiled.

He turned around and started, dropping the lantern and submerging himself into darkness.  A pair of glowing eyes had their gaze fixed on him.  The Prince’s heart hammered.  Suddenly, a large white cat materialized to take ownership of the eyes.  Tristan’s panic went away and his chest eased.  He bent down over the fragmented lantern, which repaired and lit itself upon touch, and brought it up, surveying the feline.

“Achelous,” the Prince said annoyed.  “I could just stop feeding you.”

The cat just stared.  With a swish of his overly fluffy tail, he took off.

“I should stop feeding you.”  A sarcastically wicked grin spread across his features.

He held the lantern aloft and went deeper into the room, though a little more careful this time.  Tristan stopped at a section of books that caught his eye and took from it a single tome; taking it in wing, he returned to the upstairs.



Achelous, however, stayed in the bowels of library, prowling for nearby vermin.  He did not mind the dark, nor do most cats.  He crouched under a broken chair, as if its nonexistent shadows would harbor him from his mark.  He would wait there as long as it took; felines are patient creatures.  He could almost hear the frantic heartbeat of his prey, the very sound that would betray the unfortunate creature to Archelous’ highly developed senses.

         Sure enough, the tell-tale, rapid heartbeat of a mouse rose up, only a month old by the sound…  The thick dust and moss of the floor deadened the pitter-pattering paws that would have otherwise been audible. 

         A whiskered nose poked around the corner of a bookshelf, sniffing the air for food or enemies.  No food…but there was something else…the mouse had seen a horrible white monster prowling the mystery section earlier…but this didn’t smell like a cat…

         Unfortunately for the mouse, Archelous’ teeth and accompanying esophagus felt very much like a cat.  The proud feline pranced away from that section, licking its jowls.  It never usually ate that which it killed, but master Tristan had been a little too frugal with his meals lately, pushing him to the extreme. 

He fanned out his paws, stretching out his toes and claws.  Full and rather tired, the cat began to retreat upstairs for a much deserved morning nap, but he stopped at the stairwell that would take him back up.  A strange scent caught his nose.  He glanced up the steps for a moment and turned around, moving to the massive, slightly ajar doors that led out of the library and to the rest of the castle.  The scent was stronger here.

The cat paused at the threshold, his master was still upstairs, and he didn’t like Archelous to get too far.  The cat swished his tail back in forth in annoyed thought.



Amberlin woke to the smell of lavender, fronds of it dangling over her face.  Above her was blue sky, shattered by decaying stone arches that must have once supported a massive ceiling.  She sat up, her arms shaking a little as she looked about the expansive hall.

    She was amidst a garden of nature, one that had torn through the flagstone floor that was barely visible in random patches.  Even then, a thick moss had covered most of the floor that had not been overtaken by flora.  Begonias had sprouted over rotted pews, a lilac bush snaked up an arch support and bloomed above Amberlin’s small form, lavender grew everywhere like grass, and a young maple tree was desperately trying to dig its roots into the soil beneath the paving stones.

      The girl stood looking at her surroundings as if in a dream.  The most she had ever seen of a flower was a drawing.  The most she had ever known of the sky was spoken from her Shama, as her Shama had told her in return.  She closed her eyes, breathing the deep scents of the garden.  This was what stories were talking about when they said “peace.”  She could feel the subtle energy of this place, much different than the dark woods of her home.

      The chamber had once been a gathering place.  Rows of wooden pews led up to a stone platform.  Amberlin shivered when she saw the dark faces of the windows that towered over those platforms.  Where ever she was, the Forevernight was ever-present here, but that did not explain how she could see the sky through the crumbled ceiling.

      A dark form appeared on the edge of her vision and Amberlin’ skin prickled.  As she turned to look at the individual, she only had the briefest moment to take in his glinting armor, outstretched blade, and enraged features before she ran, tearing through the pews as fast as her legs would carry her. 

      The heavy footfalls of her assailant echoed oddly in the ruined chamber, with an almost distant decay.  Her breath was loud as she ran.  She called for help, wondering dully if there was anyone in this ruined mess that would actually to come to her aid.

The stone platform was just paces ahead when a second man materialized before her.  He stood, clothed in dark green robes and a silver crown upon his matching hair.  His eyes looked straight through Amberlin, glazed over as if his mind were somewhere else entirely. 

         The girl yelled to him, imploring for his assistance, but the man—or king as he appeared—just stood there.  Amberlin rushed around him, turning as she came to the wall of windows.  The man who had been chasing her stopped at the king, held his sword aloft and said coldly, “For every sin that you did not commit,” as he plunged the blade into the king’s body.  The monarch’s eyes were empty as they gazed straight into the eyes of the man before him. 

         The king spoke in a voice that could crumble stone, “And for the worst I committed, I fear.”

         The attacker withdrew a small knife and, with it, affected his regicide.  Blood poured onto the flagstones.  Flowers sprouted from the bloodied stones alarmingly fast as Amberlin watched in horror.  The murderer bent low, and took from the clutched fingers a large ring.  The girl trembled with her back pressed against the wall.

         But they were gone, that is to say, the room was empty.  Amberlin looked around, disbelieving.  There was no blood, no murderous knight, no stricken king… 

         She shook herself and stole hastily from the strange hall, glancing behind her constantly.



Archelous slunk in to the dark hall, his feline pupils piercing the enchanted darkness.  There was a curious scent about the air, something new that hadn’t graced the cat’s pristine nostrils before.

         Intrigued, Archelous followed his olfactory senses through the once-grand corridor and up a flight of marble steps.  The smell of decaying wood permeated the air and the feline stood, searching for that strange scent once more.  Dust stirred about and the cat sneezed.  He quickly recovered and glanced about, hoping that no vermin in the vicinity had seen him.  Then he started—a door opened on the floor above.  Archelous instinctively crouched to the ground, hairs standing on end.  Master Tristan was on the other side of the castle, so it was not him above Archelous now.



Amberlin closed the courtyard door sharply behind her and was submerged into darkness.  Her eyes adjusted.  In the many years of perpetual darkness humans had grown accustomed to it, so even in the darkest scenario, one could see perhaps a faint shadow of the world around them.  She inched along the corridor, feeling all the more lost and hopeless.  Her mind raked her memories.  Was she in the same place that she had encountered that monstrous young man?  How had she escaped?

         This place wasn’t the same though.  It had a familiar feel to it, tragic, but warm—not at all the cold and foreboding chamber she had been in.  Without warning, her left foot fell through where the floor should have been and collided with the first step of a stairwell.

         “Ouch,” she exclaimed, catching herself.

         Tentatively, she continued, step by step, descending into the abyss. 

As she reached a landing, she noticed a pair of eyes glinting at her.  She screamed—immediately recalling the last time she had encountered eyes in the dark.  Amberlin turn and skirted headlong into the black chamber before her. The eyes continued to follow her as she glanced back.  She ran into a door and fumbled with the handle, wrenching it open and dodging inside.  The smell of decay filled her nostrils and she felt her way quickly through rows of what felt like books, desperate to find an exit.  As she went along, she stopped; the eyes were no longer following her.



Prince Tristan sat in a frayed armchair, paging through a dog-eared volume, frowning.  Unsatisfied, he deposited the book on a cracked marble table and massaged his temples with his steepled fingers.  His eyes scanned the books around him, some in disarray, and others meticulously organized and ready to be sorted back onto the shelves.  His clothes were so bleached by the years that they hardly looked fit for wearing.

         Muttering something under his breath, Tristan crossed the room to a library shelve and began arranging the books.  One book he removed from the shelf altogether and wiped his forehead.

         The ship of a bushy wail caught his eyes.  Frowning, he turned, “What is it Archelous?”

         The cat sat on a pile of books, unmoving.

         “I'm sure there are some slippery vermin about somewhere in this decaying hall.  Go bother them.” He went back to his sorting, glancing to the corner of his field of vision, “Archelous, stop starring at me.” the Prince pretended to ignored him, replacing a larger volume with a set of appendices.

         The feline mewed, arching its back.

         “Fine, you have my attention!”  Stepping over, Tristan continued, “What is it?”

         Archelous took off to the stairwell that led down into the shrouded halls below.

         Prince Tristan looked after curiously.  Gingerly laying a tome upon a disjointed stack, he followed Archelous as the cat led him down the spiral stairs.  Lantern in hand, Tristan descended cautiously, his nerves suddenly on edge; they anticipated that whatever Archelous was about to show him was something...unexpected.

         The musty chamber was dank and misty as usual, the library shelves like towering hedges in a garden left unchecked.  There was a energy there, something Tristan had never felt before.  His skin prickled.



* * * *



Leah stood on the horizon of the Shaded World, the realm of the Lady.  Here, everything was in perpetual twilight, caught in the threshold of death and rebirth.

         The landscape was barren, scared and ethereal.  A blackened river, caught silver in the twilight, was the only landmark visible besides the Shades and their mindless wonderings—souls lost at death, unable to full depart and thus caught in a land of eternity.

         Leah saw, for the briefest moment, his own self, many years ago, standing in the very spot he stood now.  He had been walking away from this realm, on the cusp of freedom.

         His eyes burned and his brows narrowed, determined to hold his emotions at bay, for now.  Instead, he turned his gaze westward, where two towering pillars stood out against the blazing sky.  The sun was caught there, between them, frozen forever above this endless desert.

         Shades wandered around him, bind to his passage.  He would not be stopped this time.  This time, there was nothing to lose.