Across the sands of bone-white lands
Of stars and stones and ancient hands.
The white plain spread out from horizon to hazy horizon; a vast, flat desert of sand as shimmering as sunlit snow. Here and there, the bleached, skeletal remains of ancient and monstrous giant creatures poked up like monuments to once mighty lives – some Dragons, some hillbeasts, some immense worms. Occasional, mysterious chunks of carven stone lay scattered about alongside the bones as though flung into the sands by some petulant god; weathered smooth by sweeping winds, the stones were shaped like immense body parts, shattered feathers or huge, unseeing eyes.
Human travellers believed these to be dead Seraphim, slain in some long-forgotten war.
Angels denied this theory, claiming them to be natural or magical rock formations with a curious resemblance.
Regardless, no one ventured near the stones, though the well-worn highway known as The Line cut a razor edge straight across the blinding desert.
This was the Bone Sea.
Dotted along The Line, at intervals about a day’s length apart, were several small outposts. Made from ochre-coloured bricks quarried from the Red Ranges, they cut a striking contrast with the white sand. The buildings consisted of squat, simple, square-shaped inns, taverns, stables and other assorted buildings huddled like thirsty animals around a central large well which supplied travellers with much-needed water. Traders also used the opportunity to set up cheerfully-decorated wagons at strategic corners selling food and other essential supplies – all at extortionate prices, of course.
Since the sleeping places were all packed full, including the animal barns, Flint, Lady Araynia and Ben made their first camp out in the sands, taking shelter during the furious heat and brightness of the day amidst the giant bones.
Though they rested within a dry, airy Dragon skull the size of a house, well out of view of anyone on The Line, nevertheless they were hot, tired, uncomfortable and thirsty. Their horses suffered too, frequently stamping their hooves into the sand and huffing with irritation; there was no grass or vegetation of any sort to nibble on, though their saddlebags were well stocked with grain.
The desert was not entirely devoid of life, however; there were small blue beetles and other insects, and scuttering lizards that hid in the shadows. And living on the inside of the huge skeletons, Ben found some strange, pale crablike creatures as big as his head, which appeared as dead husks until Ben poked at one, and it fell onto Lady Araynia, who was trying to sleep.
Her shriek and subsequent distress broke her days-long mutism, and startled Flint out of his snore, causing him to scramble around for a weapon until Ben apologetically assured everyone that they weren’t being attacked.
Ben didn’t mind the peculiar animals, the bugs, the sand, the skeletons or even the heat too much.
But the Seraphim stones were another matter.
As the sun was sinking at dusk and the others were packing up their camp and tending to the horses, he snuck off to inspect one. It appeared like a giant hand, lying palm upwards in the sand and missing half of its third finger. Standing on it, bathed in the red glow of sunset, a weird feeling overcame him.
He thought he heard a sound – something almost indescribable, on the edge of his hearing – both beautiful and horrifying, like a choir singing rapturously while simultaneously screaming in agony.
Startled, shivering suddenly despite the blaze of the sun, he jumped off the stone and decided never to go near any of them again.
That wasn’t the only odd thing they encountered on their travels, however.
During their second night across the plains, they came across a strange group of white-robed people, all slumped and laying about exhausted by the side of the road.
There were about twenty of them, all devoid of possessions. No food, no water, no weapons, no camping or cooking equipment: nothing.
Lady Araynia pulled her horse up at the sight of them, appalled, and tried to ask them if they needed any help.
They denied that they did, insisting that they were on a pilgrimage seeking salvation, and would take only nourishment that the Golden Dawn provided.
Some sort of religious fanatics? Ben wondered.
Araynia hopped down from her horse and started pulling out food and water for them regardless. Flint wandered over and attempted to question them about the Bladeshifters and the thief, but they only gazed up at the Freeroamer blankly.
One of them caught Ben’s attention, and gestured him over.
Ben approached guardedly, but it was just a boy, around the same age as himself, though much thinner.
“Come with us!” the boy whispered earnestly. “Come with us and be saved!”
Ben frowned. “Saved from what?”
“The wraiths! The demon-wraiths! Everything!” The boy’s eyes were bright with hope.
Ben shook his head. “Thanks,” he said politely, “but—”
The boy pulled a folded-up piece of paper out of his robes and held it out.
Despite himself, Ben was curious, so he took the paper and unfolded it.
It was indeed some religious pamphlet, with a fancy emblem of a winged sword in the bottom corner. The text was a beautifully handwritten mess of nonsensical ravings.
These people really think that something is going to save them, he thought, baffled. But what? What’s the Golden Dawn?
He started to hand the paper back, when his gaze snagged on two words:
‘New Arvanor’.
He had heard someone say that phrase before…
Mistaking Ben’s hesitation for serious consideration of the doctrine, the boy became more excited, and other robed people suddenly took an interest in him, but Ben paid them no notice.
A memory had just sprung up in his mind; of standing in the upstairs hallway of an empty tavern, listening while two Angel soldiers discussed murdering his friend in an adjacent bedroom.
It is not a living man, Lieutenant. It is dead. There will be no place for such abominations in New Arvanor…
He decided to keep the paper, but then Flint had to intervene, as the cult members had tried to drag him into their midst.
Ben had been unable to stop thinking about the group for hours after.
That was, until the sky began to lighten with the approach of dawn.
They were out on the sands again, searching for a place to make camp, when they caught sight of winged figures above, gliding silently across the fading stars.
Angels.
Not just one or two of them, but dozens, scattered across the sky in ragged groups, and there were children and infants with them. None stopped at the nearby outpost: all were heading straight east.
Ben, Araynia and Flint watched the Angels until they had disappeared into the blue glow across the hills.
All three of them felt a profound sense of disquiet.
A mass exodus of Angels was unheard of, and could mean only one thing:
The demon-wraiths had reached Arkana.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
It was around midnight on their third night across the Bone Sea. Traffic on The Line had spread out considerably, with no one to be seen either ahead of them or behind. The white sands spread away in all directions like a soft, dreamlike blanket, patterned with shadows from the huge skeletons, stars ablaze overhead like a million candles in a cathedral. Flint had informed them that they were nearing the end of the Bone Sea; they needed to make only one more camp before the terrain rose into a series of rocky hills and clumps of forest.
Soon, they would leave the vast, silent, strange and starry plains behind.
And beyond that final ridge lay their destination:
Bridgetown.
Ben wasn’t sure whether to feel excitement or trepidation. None of them knew what was going to happen when they reached the border.
As far as they were aware, the thief was bolting that way as fast as possible. Flint had questioned many of their fellow travellers, and plenty of people had seen him; he wasn’t even bothering to disguise himself, and a couple of large, unidentifiable bundles had been observed accompanying him on his horse.
That confirmed it, then – he was definitely carrying either the Eliminator or Hawk, and most likely both.
Of the Bladeshifters, however, they had seen and heard no sign.
Flint seemed to think they were hanging back, trailing them but keeping their distance, waiting for an opportunity. This came as little surprise to Ben, considering what had happened back in Watchroads, but rather filled him with a vicious kind of glee.
Jewels had been forced to reassess their little group, and would surely think twice before trying to attack them again.
Despite this, Ben had spent much of the journey looking compulsively over his shoulder, and they had rotated watch duty at their camps, just in case.
Well, at least, Ben and Flint had kept watch. Araynia was so tired and forlorn that they had let her sleep, even though she had insisted on taking a turn. When she realised what they had done, she glared at them, but seemed too lacking in energy to remain mad. At their second camp she tried to stay awake, but the heat of the day proved too much.
Ben was worried. Whatever confidence Lady Araynia had regained after using the Sword of Healing on herself appeared to have ebbed away completely. She had withdrawn into herself again, riding with her shoulders slumped in resignation, like a condemned hostage.
Ben had tried several times to reassure her about the Sword, but his efforts had no effect, and in truth he was beginning to doubt his own words.
Maybe she was right, and we SHOULD have gone back for it…
But it was too late, now; they had come too far, and The Line swept them inexorably along, towards an uncertain and possibly disastrous future.
Chewing at his lip, Ben stared at the noblewoman riding just ahead of him, on a black-and-white mare. At the first outpost, they all had an opportunity to wash and exchange their filthy clothes for clean ones from the supplies given to them from the generous farmers. Araynia had replaced her skirt with more practical riding pants. Her dark hair was tied in a neat braid which fell down her back, over a frilled blouse that glowed white as the sand in the moonlight.
He had to say something to her, though. If she didn’t believe in herself, then she wouldn’t be able to use the Sword even if she did get it back. And that meant that she wouldn’t be able to save Everine.
But as well as all that… Ben just didn’t like seeing her sad.
Riding forward, he pulled his horse up alongside her. “Flint says we should be out of this desert soon,” he said conversationally. He looked out at the moonlit plains. “It’s kind of peaceful here, isn’t it? You can see a million stars. It’s a bit like being on the ocean.” He scratched at his neck. “The heat is a bit much, though.”
Araynia was gazing out across the sands, and said nothing.
“Do you need anything?” he offered her his waterskin. “Some more water?”
Araynia shook her head.
They rode on in awkward silence.
Ben took a sip of his water and put it away. He continued to dither for a couple more minutes, then took a breath and decided to do what his sister would have done in this situation: get to the point.
“So… um, you got your pendant back,” he said. “But I noticed that you don’t wear it any more.” He cocked his head to one side. “But at least we know it works, now, right? It still has magic. You seemed to think it was broken—”
“I don’t want to talk about it!”
Her reply was so abrupt that Ben was taken aback. But something of Everine’s stubbornness must have rubbed off on him, for he remained steadfast. “Why not?”
She didn’t seem to have an answer to that.
His gaze was challenging, but she refused to meet it. “I know that your magic isn’t what you expected it to be,” he told her. “It isn’t what any of us expected it to be. But it saved my life, and I want you to know I’m grateful for that.”
He stared ahead into the endless white distance, and a smile crept onto his face. “And also… it was awesome.”
It was Araynia’s turn to be surprised. She near choked on her own gasp. “Ben!”
The boy shrugged, unapologetic. “Well? It was, though! And neither of us would be here right now if you hadn’t done… whatever it was you did!”
Araynia sighed.
“No one blames you for killing some damned Bladeshifters!” Ben went on. “No one’s losing any sleep over them. The people back at the town were upset because they saw magic and didn’t know what was happening and they were scared!”
“I’m scared!”
Ben looked at her, and saw that she was right. Her dark blue eyes brimmed with terror and uncertainty.
He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight with sympathy. She had gone through so much already; forced to flee her comfortable home, lost her family and then her best friend in horrifying circumstances, been given a magical Sword for mysterious reasons, survived a Fatalis spell and a crazed demon-wraith and found out that she possessed dangerous magic power.
That was an awful lot for anyone to deal with.
He looked down at his horse’s dark mane, sorry that he had pushed her to talk when she didn’t want to. But the fact remained that so many people needed her.
“I’m scared too,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to lose my sister.”
Up until now, the possibility of losing Everine hadn’t really entered his mind. He had refused to let it, firmly believing that Araynia would eventually save her, that all that was needed was time.
He had never considered what would happen if the noblewoman didn’t want to use her magic. That left a future too grim to contemplate. And yet, there it was, opening a hole in his path, ready to swallow him…
He took a shaky breath. “If you can’t do it,” he went on, because talking was better than falling into that hole, “if… if you can’t help her, then that only leaves Ferrian. But he doesn’t want to use his Sword either, because he doesn’t know what it’s capable of.”
He snuffed a laugh. “Only two sorcerers left, and neither of you want to use magic because you’re both afraid of hurting people!” He took a deep breath and let it out in a frustrated sigh. “But all I want is for somebody to try!”
When he looked at Araynia again, she was swiping a sleeve across her eyes. “It isn’t that I don’t want to try,” she said. “I know that the magic is a part of myself: I have accepted that. I am aware that everyone is relying on me. Yes, I fear causing harm to others, but it isn’t just that…”
Turning to one side, she rummaged in one of the saddlebags and then sat back with something lying in the palm of her hand – a deep blue, crystallised chip of night strung with a fine, silver chain.
The pendant.
Araynia stared down at it hopelessly. “I… I fear what the magic will do… to me.”
Ben stared at her in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”
She continued to stare at the pendant, and swallowed. “Did you… did you know Lord Requar?”
Ben blinked in surprise at the question, and shook his head. “No. He died before I had a chance to meet him.” He gestured at Flint, riding some way ahead of them. “Flint did, though. They travelled together. I think they were friends, or at least, Flint was sad when he died.” He shook his head. “He doesn’t really like talking about it, though. He saw some things that were… messed up.” He shrugged. “I don’t know the details; I only know what Ferrian told me, and he wasn’t keen on talking about it either.”
“But… Requar stabbed himself with a trigonic dagger,” Araynia whispered.
Ben’s expression was sombre. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
Ben shrugged again. “I guess he couldn’t bear to live with what he had done.”
Araynia wiped at her eyes with her sleeves again.
Ben looked at her. “It wasn’t his magic that made him do terrible things, though, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said. “It was trigon. He was researching and experimenting with it for decades.”
Araynia shook her head. “Is that really true?”
“Well, why would an evil person feel so bad about it?”
“Why would a good person even think about destroying an entire school in the first place?!”
“I dunno. Good people have stupid ideas, sometimes?” He paused. “Mekka went crazy too, when Ferrian gave him the trigonic dagger to dispose of.”
Araynia stared at him, aghast. “He what?!”
“And Ferrian’s Winter killed a lot of people accidentally before he learned how to control it.” He shook his head. “You’re not the only person in the world who has hurt other people, intentionally or otherwise.”
Araynia was silent, looking pale.
“Hell, I hit a pirate in the face once, with a frying pan. Actually, a whole bunch of pirates. They all ended up overboard by the time Everine and I were done with them, and my sister wasn’t as polite as I was. We were too busy staying alive at the time to care.”
The noblewoman said nothing.
Ben sighed. “You’re not a bad person, Araynia, and you’re not going to turn into one, either. I don’t think that’s even possible. You’re my friend, and I trust you. Now all you have to do is to trust yourself.”
Araynia was staring down at her pendant, her brow furrowed in consternation. She looked as though there was still something on her mind, but at that moment, a sharp whistle came from somewhere ahead of them. Ben looked up to see Flint stopped about a hundred yards away, gesturing at them to catch up. They were lagging behind.
Ben gave Araynia a final reassuring smile, then spurred his bay gelding up beside the Freeroamer.
“Everythin’ all right?” Flint asked.
“Sure,” Ben replied. Araynia trotted up beside them. Ben noticed that she was wearing the pendant again. He gave her a thumbs-up.
The noblewoman looked a little anxious still, but managed a faint smile.
“Eh, right,” Flint said, eyeing them both. “Well, yer better be, because yer not gonna believe this…” Turning his black mare around, he nodded east, in the direction they were heading. “Any idea what that is, kiddos?”
Ben and Araynia looked down The Line. The highway continued as a stripe of hard-packed cartwheel tracks toward a wall of dim, low grey hills that marked the end of the Bone Sea. But before that, about a mile away, a large white shape, lumpen and spiny sat in the middle of the sand.
“Maybe another of those big skeletons?” Ben suggested. “There’s loads of them… around…” his voice trailed off into silence.
Slowly, his eyes widened.
On the other side of Flint, Lady Araynia gasped, putting a hand to her mouth.
The shock to Ben’s realisation was almost as dramatic as Jewels’ fist to his face.
That white mound was no skeleton. It was too… shiny.
“Wait,” Ben breathed, looking from the shape to Flint and back again, several times. Flint was right: he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Wait, no, that can’t be…!”
Flint looked apprehensive. “I reckon it is, yeah.”
“Then what the hell are we doing?! Let’s go!”
Without waiting for anyone, Ben kicked his horse into a gallop. A moment later, Araynia followed, both of them charging ahead in twin trails of white dust.
Sergeant Flint was slower to follow. Pulling the rim of his hat down firmly, he muttered: “Somethin’ about this ain’t right.”
Then he slapped the reins and followed with all speed.