A New World

  In the year 782, a mage by the name of Adullus Ta created the modern classifications of magic that we have today, dividing the seven branches—as well as the one we have lost, Silver—into sub-classes and compiling a list of the most common specialties among magi. Of course, there are the occasional oddities. Even today, new magi are born who exhibit different qualities or possess an entirely new specialty. Nothing is more exciting to a true scholar of magic.

  — From Secrets of Mani, by Sor the Lark

  (San’Hal 17, 997—Night Season)

  Rhidea called it a prairie, the thick grassland through which we walked the next day—our second morning on the new continent, although it had been hard to judge time in the forest, as the thick canopy hid the auroras from view. We had left the thick forest behind by now, and were trudging through tall, papery grey grass that waved at hip height. We still hadn’t found any water yet, and this worried me. Surely there was plenty of water in the soil here, but . . . none that we could drink.

  Just as we were running out of our supply, however, we found the first small pond. Reeds paved the way down into it except for a few places where one could go right up to the water’s edge. It was murky and strange looking. Kymhar had us all run it through charcoal first to purify it.

  Mydia wiped her mouth after downing the last of her leftover warm water, making a face. “Ick. One of my favorite parts about traveling. Great water.”

  “We would’ve brought packhorses, your royal highness,” Kaen said, “but we couldn’t find a way to ship those packhorses across the sky, you see.”

  She turned a glare on him and crossed her arms. “I could’ve gotten us water anywhere,” she grumbled. “You’re the one who said we couldn’t trust it.”

  I crouched down beside where she sat, crumpling all of the weeds around. “Mydia, I’m glad you’re with us.”

  She smiled dully. “Thanks. I’m used to all this by now, of course. I don’t mean to always sound like the whiney one.”

  I ruffled her black bob like a little girl. “It’s all right.” She had lost some weight over the course of our multiple journeys, still bearing the same rounded, delicate face but less padding. Traveling light would do that to anyone.

  Rhidea was surveying the horizon, shading her eyes with a hand despite Sol being far behind us. Kymhar had told us that there should be water near here, but was not sure if the plentitude of it would increase or not.

  Kaen took a small sip of the water. “I think it’s probably fine to drink,” he declared, taking another big gulp a moment later. “Just as it is.”

  One way or another, we all refilled our supply of water for the next couple of days. Surely, we would find a town before long. This was rich land, rich enough anyway, and yet so far, we had seen no people settling it.

  “Rhidea,” I asked. “Do you think it’s really true that no humans live on this continent? That they’ve just . . . never even come here?”

  “Well, child . . . that depends when and how they came to our side. It could be populated, or it could be unpopulated. If the tales of the Gate are true, humans originally came from Gaea to this side of our world, and only then found a way to cross to Argent.”

  I pondered this as we set off once more through the prairie. However, it wasn’t much more than another mile before Kymhar said, “I’m seeing signs of people.” As we went on, he pointed out tracks here and there. “Unmistakably human.”

  We continued to trample through the tall grass. It still stretched for miles in most directions. There was a little more forest toward the southern horizon. The only light came from the auroras, who twinkled helpfully as they did every day in the Night Season. And the stars, thanks to the clear sky overhead.

  Eventually, we saw the smoke. Then the first house from which the smoke rose. Farms. And past the farms . . . a village. There was some discussion amidst our group over whether we should just approach them and claim we got lost, or circle around and approach from the north or south and say we journeyed far—or just tell the truth and say that we came over the Sea of Emptiness from the other side of the world.

  We ended up just going with the first explanation, which was the simplest: we lost our way. The first farm we walked right past, as the farmers didn’t seem particularly friendly when they saw us. More like . . . frightened? I suppose I would be, too, if I saw someone walk out of the forest at the edge of the world in the middle of the Sunless Cycle.

  We made our way toward the village, arriving at the end of a rough half-circle of houses built from the nearby trees. The chimneys were of clay and stone, probably harvested from the tilled farmland nearby. There was an almost-road leading into the half-circle, which we followed into town. Children played with ropes and people walked to and fro in the starlight. Torch poles spaced throughout the village gave extra light. I supposed that would be their only light on a cloudy, pitch-dark Sunless night.

  That is . . . depending on how well this Gaea’s light pierces the clouds.

  We asked some of the locals about the whereabouts of this place, saying that we were lost and got turned around in the forest.

  One woman, bearing dark tan skin and dark hair like most of the locals, gave us a strange stare when we asked. “The forest? That is not a place many wander. Everyone knows that it is dangerous to go so close to the edge of the world.” She spoke in a strange dialect, and it was difficult to make out what she said, but it was the same language.

  “Why, because of the cliffs?” asked Rhidea.

  “Yes,” she whispered with a shiver. “Evil lurks in the depths, seeking to swallow any who come near. Everyone knows this.”

  I felt my skin prickling.

  “What do you call this place?” asked Rhidea.

  “Lor’Hav,” she replied. She spoke the name in a sharp accent that I found fascinating. “We don’t get many visitors, so my apologies are yours if we seem inhospitable.”

  Rhidea didn’t ask what she’d meant about evil lurking in the chasm. I assumed it must be a sort of local superstition. However, once we were out of earshot of the townsfolk, she said to us, “I have heard tales of a ‘Silver Beast’ that dwells beneath Mani. Recalling those stories makes that woman’s words a bit more chilling. But I doubt it will have any bearing on our journey.”

  I shared a glance with Mydia. A shrug from the young woman confirmed my recollection that her book hadn’t said anything about this so-called Silver Beast.

  We attempted conversation with a few more locals, and one of the more friendly men of the village gave us some directions for the journey inland, saying that we must cross the River Soul to reach the inner Duchy. (Whatever that was—apparently, we were on the far fringes?) He said that the river circled the world, which seemed a far-fetched claim. A few miles inland, according to him, was where we would encounter the first of the tributaries that ran into the Soul.

  We purchased some interesting local crops for food and filled our skins with water at the village well, and then we departed shortly after, following the kind man’s directions. Rhidea did not want to make the villagers any more uneasy than they already were at our sudden appearance.

  The next day, after hours of climbing soft hills, we saw the first tributary. It was a shallow creek, only twenty feet across at its widest. It flowed eastward toward the center of the continent, terminating at a larger river called the Athalar, of which the village residents had spoken. On either bank grew short shrubs and trees of pale golden leaf. Animals poked their heads up here and there, mostly rabbits. There was a low valley sheltering the creek, fertile with all types of vegetation, and we chose to stay just on the inside of it, so as to follow it but not be seen too easily.

  (San’Hal 20, 997—Dawn)

  Nearly a week of travel on foot had brought us to our first river town. We didn’t enter immediately, as it was already nighttime, clouds obscuring both the stars and the first light of dawn, so we decided to camp nearby. After we’d gone what Kymhar deemed a safe distance from the town, we crossed over the grassy ridge—tinged subtly green here—to find a place to camp. No fire, just our bedrolls, tucked in behind a copse of trees and thick brush. This could be hostile territory, after all. Mydia thought it was silly, and I certainly wasn’t afraid, but Kaen and Kymhar didn’t want bandits or hostile natives to have anything to find us by in the night.

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  Dawn had broken, and the first orange light reached up over the horizon, like Sol reaching to embrace her counterpart. Or perhaps attempting to swat down an imposter. Would Sol overtake Gaea soon? The Night Season was so much brighter here on the other side of Mani—whatever this new continent was called—due to Gaea’s light. And it had only climbed higher in the sky since we’d come, by perhaps one outstretched handspan. I still wasn’t used to the light from this “moon” (the locals’ name for it) after our few days here.

  In the morning, we entered the town to see about buying mounts for our journey. Wherever our destination turned out to be, we would not get there quickly on foot. The locals, who lived in crude wooden houses, did indeed have horses for sale, though not of any breeding that impressed Rhidea and Mydia. But, as our friend the queen eventually conceded, “A horse is a horse.”

  The villagers were kind enough to give us some more accurate directions to point us on our way. Rhidea had an uncanny knack for wheedling information out of anyone, as she had demonstrated on me back in the Nytaean Palace. And to think where we’d be if she hadn’t . . .

  Our destination, we learned via her carefully-worded questions, was a place called the Land of Storms, which lay at the center of the continent. It was like the Wellspring to the people of Darsor (their name for this continent), in that it was a forbidden place of history and mystery. It was also very close to the center of the Duchy of Halstar. Following this river, the Athalar, would take us eastward to the Soul, after which we would cross into the inner duchy. For some reason, they referred to this route as the ‘Eclipse Path.’

  Atop our new steeds, we set off for the day, same as we had been. Mydia hadn’t complained in quite a while now. She was getting used to the traveling life, and had not only lost weight but had grown more fit as her body acclimated. Still those chubby princess cheeks, though.

  Kaen said almost nothing until midday, when we stopped for a rest break to relieve ourselves. He was just coming back from the stream with fresh water in the waterskins. “How are you holding up, Lyn?”

  I lay on my back on the grassy grey slopes of the river valley, dress crumpled over my bent knees as I watched the stars twinkle faintly in the dawn sky, running my hands over the cool, faintly moist grass—silvery mixed with green. With all the new sights, it was a relief to see at least something familiar. I supposed if both continents were composed of silver underneath, as the texts said, then that silver would bleed through into the plant life here just the same as on Argent.

  I looked up, realizing Kaen had said my name. “Oh. I’m doing fine. A little . . . eh. Nothing. I’m fine.” I gave him a decidedly fake smile, not on purpose.

  He dropped the waterskins and flopped down beside me. “You always say that when you’re all uptight.”

  I growled softly and glared at him. “Kaen, it’s—”

  He grinned, and I cut off. He probably knew. He was either playing with me or just trying to lighten up my day. Whichever it was, it was working in a strange way.

  We stared at the sky together for a minute. The clouds earlier had contained an unfamiliar constellation, and I wondered if we would see a new one soon. I didn’t understand how the constellations could be tied to specific positions of the sun, yet none of the ones we knew from Argent had appeared yet over Darsor. Given that it was a reaction in the magical Energy Field . . . who could put logic to it?

  “It’s gorgeous here, isn’t it?” he said at length.

  I nodded, hair rustling the grass as I did so. Then I said, “I miss Phoebe. And Mandrie. After our whole childhood together, we’ve gotten separated by circumstances.”

  “Yeah. I miss them, too. I even miss my squad, truth be told. Back when I was with the Nytaean guards.”

  “I miss Lentha.”

  Kaen grew quiet.

  Then I snorted. “I even miss that stupid oaf, Cort Flanning.”

  Kaen echoed my snort. “Not that stick in the mud.”

  I groaned, rising to my feet and brushing off my skirts. They were utilitarian by design, comprised of eight overlapping quarter-sheets of linen sewn together over thin trousers. This made it a tad difficult to brush leaves or grass out. Of course, it was all sorts of dirty and stained from travel anyway. I helped Kaen to his feet and then took one of the water bags to carry back to the others.

  “All right,” Rhidea said briskly as we reassembled. “Let’s go find that river. It can’t be far off now, right, Kaen?”

  He shrugged. “A couple more miles, if that soldier was right.”

  I wondered just how far inland we were at this point, and how much farther we had to go. The Soul River was supposed to run around the center of Darsor (I didn’t have a clue how that worked), but I didn’t know the circumference of the Soul. If Rhidea and the Archlord were right, then there were only these two continents, one on either side of Mani—but how big was each? We were supposing that this continent was the same size as Argent.

  That night, I singled out Rhidea and asked to speak with her.

  “What is it, child?”

  “I . . .” I swallowed. My conversation with Kaen had brought something to mind that had been bugging me. “You remember the dreams I told you about?”

  “Once, yes,” she said. “Do you still feel they may be visions?”

  “Well . . . actually, I think they’re memories. I really don’t know what they are, or why I have them, but I haven’t had any since reaching Darsor.”

  Rhidea frowned, as though expecting to hear that they had increased dramatically. It surprised me as well, after all. “When was your last vision?”

  “Back on Scathii. After I almost died.”

  The sorceress nodded thoughtfully. “So at a time when you would have been expending your otherworldly powers. Perhaps the visions come based on how much you utilize your powers?”

  “That is . . . what I’m thinking,” I admitted. It was the only explanation that fit. “I just wish I knew more about my mother, and who she was.”

  Rhidea gave me that look that said she was hiding something but didn’t want to let on. I didn’t care enough to press her. If I did . . . I might get some answers, but they would probably not be the ones I wanted. Eventually, she simply nodded. “I suspect it will all come clear when we reach Gaea.”

  We kept to our route, following the creek until we reached a larger one, a real river called the Athalar, which we traced for another week.

  A few days in, we witnessed the most spectacular thing we’d seen since crossing the Sea of Emptiness. The sun chased Gaea, Darsor’s “moon” up the horizon until they finally met. Sol slowly blurred out of sight behind the larger heavenly body, and we watched with unsettled fascination as the light dimmed until nearly complete darkness reigned.

  “This must be the ‘eclipse’ the locals mentioned,” Rhidea said quietly. “The Eclipse Path . . . proceed with care.”

  We guided our horses cautiously using magical torchlight to see by. The temperature dropped just enough to be noticeable, not as much as during the Night Season. It lasted for around an hour before Sol crept up and over the blue planet.

  “Well, that was creepy,” said Kaen, encapsulating the majority of our reactions.

  (San’Hal 27, 997—Zenith)

  Finally, we came upon the Soul River, breaking through thick golden trees at the top of a low rise in the land. The day’s sunlight reflected off the river’s rippling surface as it came into sight, stretching from the far horizon on the left to the near right and splitting off. Despite the glare of sunlight, the water was extremely dark. The Athalar, just as we’d been told, was only a small offshoot of the much-larger river—The Soul River—which was at least a half-mile wide here.

  “Auroras above!” exclaimed Mydia upon seeing the large body of water. “I haven’t seen so much water since Ti’Vaeth. This makes the Ardencaul look like a little stream!”

  “The what?” Oliver asked distractedly, staring at the glittering stygian water.

  “A river back home in Kystrea,” I said. “It divides our home city of Nytaea.”

  “Now for the real challenge,” Rhidea said, clutching one arm with the other. “Swimming . . . across.”

  Oh, no. I’ve heard she doesn’t like water. . . . The mage had avoided swimming with a passion ever since I’d known her, and had since explained that she had harbored a fear of water ever since childhood.

  Kaen shrugged. “Let’s just swim across. How hard can it be? Well, Oliver probably can’t swim, and . . . Rhidea, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she muttered. “I don’t like water. I don’t like to swim.” She lowered her head and squeezed her eyes shut in shame as she said it. I knew she didn’t like to admit her fear.

  “Um . . . I definitely cannot swim across that far of a gap,” Mydia said uncertainly. “I’m no athlete, you know . . . I think we should see how deep and wide it is in certain spots. Perhaps we could just wade right across?”

  “Oh, come on,” Kaen protested, “You’re supposed to be the royal water mage. You can’t just part the waters and let us walk through?”

  Mydia fixed him with an offended glare that said, What do you take me for, divinity?

  Rhidea shook herself. “No, no, we may be able to do this an easier way. I apologize—I let my fear get the better of me for a moment. If we could only . . .” She took out her teleportation artifact and sighed. “It’s much too far.”

  We gave up on fording the river and searched for the nearest bridge, which ended up being less than a mile to the north. Feeling a bit foolish, we camped on the far shore amidst a pine forest. We made no fire once again. No sense inviting all of our currently unsuspecting neighbors to come and investigate our presence.

  As I did every night now, I looked up at the sky from my bedroll and gazed at the distant world suspended in the sky. My homeworld. Could it be? Gaea—or the Moon as the locals called it—had moved to a slightly higher point above us as we traveled inland. It was beautiful . . .

  What kind of place was it? A land of scenery even more beautiful than Mani, full of strange people? A sea of colors and strange sights? Or a deceptively hostile world? Was it actually as blue as it looked on the surface? Who could say?

  Gaea is not like this world. It’s a scary world, with volcanoes and earthquakes, magma fields and raging oceans.

  My mother’s voice, from my most recent dream, rang in my head unbidden, causing a shiver to run down my spine. I’d been getting better at recalling my dreams lately. There was only one way to find out for sure what Gaea was like, however. And first we had to get there.