Cara opened her eyes for the first time in a thousand years. For decades she had sat with her face to the pale and sunless sky, the grey sands swirling about her ankles and wrists until her skin was raw. Exactly how long she had rested there she could not say. Her last memory was of donning her sleeping gown and kissing her auntie goodnight. It was the night before their trek to Mount Obrus and the kingdom of Thrond. Obrus was just a mountain then, not the World Dragon, or a beast with weeping armies and ill tempered princes.

Her gown was mostly gone, devoured by the ravenous spirit of time. Let the gown rot, she thought. She was at peace with her nakedness on this everlasting grey shore, where there was no eye to spy her, nor ear to hear or mouth to speak. All her truths were safe here; unchallenged, unjudged, unspoken, unbidden, unknown.

How had she come by this place? She was fortunate to have found such a bastion of solitude. My own august ruin. She unbent her knees and stretched her legs, eliciting more than a few creaks and pops. Carefully, a few inches at a time, she laid on her back. She could feel the fingers of the waking clawing at her, but their prying and groping hands among those infinite sands were as ants among mountains, and she paid them no heed. Here she slept, and thought, and listened. Only the waves of an unseen ocean breached the interring stillness of this quiet land. Cara basked in that sound indefinitely, hearing words in the waves, words that carried only feelings. With each wave she exhaled a breath, and with each breath she cleansed her mind. After a time she had no memory of fear, or anger, or sadness, or even passion or joy. Within her there was only peace, simple and serene.

In time she longed to feel the powers of the world outside again. She thought of the breezes that cooled her on hot summer days when she rode her silver through the grassy sea surrounding her father’s castle. The sun would never allow the air to chill her overmuch, though. It was always ready to hold her tight in its radiant arms, or to simply press its blazing hand against her cheek and remind her of its love.

Yes, those powers are good. Give me the warm hands of the sun and the cool kiss of the wind. A wind she was given; an affectionate little gale that tickled her stomach with a sprinkle of grey sand. The warm hands came next, spreading over the sunless pale sky with an all-present shimmer. Her goose-prickled skin drank deeply of the ambience, and her heart beat so gently it almost stopped. I could die here, and be awake to enjoy the peace.

Rise, said the Voice.

She expected it this time. What do I call you? She asked. There was no reply. That’s right. You’re a memory. The light of a distant star. I suppose you want me to walk with you. Cara remained still, willing another breeze to caress her skin. She began to feel a slight discomfort growing deep within her abdomen. Her guts slowly started to twist, and pressure built up unrelentingly in her stomach. The unease began to spread to her chest, quickening her heart, and in a painful instant she remembered the sensation of fear.

She shot upright, tossing a cloud of grey sand off her breasts and shoulders. The fear went away, leaving only a slight twinge in her gut that kept her from laying back down. She felt cold, and when she looked up to will more warmth, she saw the black sun with its silver-white halo that clutched at the sky like a hand. She had lost her command over warmth and wind, but was feeling a surge of inner awareness returning. Passion welled within her, bringing with it thoughts of her family and home, and the ire she felt when Noxi was dragged away in chains. She remembered the apology in Halfur’s eyes, and saw Lobuhl glowering hatefully. The thought of others pierced her dome of solitude like an arrow breaching a breastplate, and a fresh gown formed from the air to cover her. The sand around her ankles and wrists clung to her flesh and she felt the waking trying to pull her under.

RISE.

She stood. Sandals formed around her feet and a cloak over her shoulders. A strong gust of wind wafted a vortex of sand into the air and Cara lifted the hood of the cloak to shield her face. When the wind stopped she lowered the hood and saw that the gust had piled sand into mounds as tall as her. The heaped grains began to shuffle against each other, like ants in a tunnel hurrying every which way at once. The mounds took on the shapes of towers, keeps, walls, battlements and artillery. The make of the structures was strange to Cara. The walls and towers were without crenelations, the catapults and mangonels only partially made, or perhaps partially hidden, with only their launching arms peering out of narrow slits in the towers. The keeps were numerous and made in every imaginable shape and made no sense to her.

Another wind blew by and washed the sand-castle with color. There were ocean blues, desert creams, minty greys, dark purples, and vivid shades of orange and green she’d never before seen. Torchlight glowed like eyes in the windows of the towers and keeps, but it did not flicker or gutter in the air, rather the lights were constant and steady, unwavering pinpoints of amber and cyan flame.

What castle is this? She asked.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Othomo, said the Voice.

Castle Othomo? Song Of The Voiceless, the script that predated the Tides... Othomo, the dark bringer. Maker of night. What does this have to do with him? She wracked her brain, but remembered specifically that in that old day and night myth, Othomo had no kingdom or castle, but was sent alone to fight Arun and free the sun. She looked closely at the castle, thinking it must be a place someone named after the fabled hero of night. The design of the place was completely foreign to her. There were places in the world she knew very little of, places far to the south and across the sea. Is Othomo in Canthor? Or across the sea? Is this a place in Miur?

There was no reply, only another gust of wind. Cara lifted the hood back over her face until the gust died down, then looked again at Castle Othomo. The vivid colors had turned to dark brown and shadowy grey, giving the castle an aspect of fear. A great black worm then bored out of the ground next to it and moved slowly and inexorably toward its gate. Burning missiles launched from the strange artillery lining Castle Othomo’s walls, each one bursting in a shower of glowing sand on the horizon of the worm’s lightless flesh. The worm ignored them as it slithered in a circle around the castle, gradually winding its coils tighter and tighter, until they enveloped almost the entire wall. A straight beam of white and gold lightning came from the largest keep, and for a moment the worm halted, but the lightning failed to harm it and was quickly spent. A postern gate opened under the last safe battlement and a horse galloped speedily through with a small child clinging to the saddle. The worm then opened its maw to feast on Othomo, devouring walls, towers, keeps and all.

Was this your home? Cara asked. Were you the child on the horse? Or… were you… were you the worm? There was a pause, and Cara knew the answer before it was spoken.

I am a memory, the light of a distant star, and I will see you through the storm.

The worm disintegrated before her eyes, its hulking black mass turning grey and dropping back into the sand. Black as the Worm, she thought. It was a common enough phrase, one she had never thought much about. A person could just as easily say black as night, or black as coal. She thought back to Audun’s soft voice as he explained that dragons and phoenixes were real, but from a time other than theirs. Was there a great black worm in the distant past as well? she wondered. Castle Othomo must have been an ancient place, she decided, likely the capital of a great empire from before the sundering.

The Empire of the Hidden Lord, perhaps? Yes, that could be it. It may have been eaten by a giant worm, and not defeated by the Tidal Kings after all. Her father had often warned her not to trust the histories overmuch, that records were often miswritten by those seeking glory they had not earned. But then she remembered Audun’s claim that dragons and phoenixes were used as symbols of other things in their time. Perhaps the same was true of the Black Worm. The Empire of the Hidden Lord was said to be ruled by a monstrous being of unspeakable evil, that had stitched parts of beasts to his body and become more animal than man. The Black Worm seemed a more fitting symbol for him than for the brave armies of panther men and gold skinned Adar said to have brought him down.

And then there was the hungry orb of darkness looming above her. Cara looked up at the black sun with its disk of white fire. And what in the Dreams of Alon are you? There were so many questions. Why go to Eruhal? Why were Thrond's soldiers weeping while charging to war? What could possibly wound Obrus so badly? What were the black worm and black sun supposed to be? And when and where was Castle Othomo?

She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, hoping to draw her answers from the Voice. What do these things mean? she asked.

Walk with me.

Yes yes, I will walk with you, if I must. But what more can you tell me now?

Pain.

Pain? Why would you cause me pain? She remembered her violent tremors and searing fever when the vision came to her while awake.

Hinges creak when a door first opens, the Voice replied.

What does that mean? Cara held out her hands with her palms open to the sky. Why have you come to me? Is it because of the stone? Are you inside the black mannarim?

The Voice answered her with wind and warmth. Her gown then disappeared into the air, along with her cloak and sandals, the grey sand, and everything else until she was floating upon nothing in a field of complete blackness, naked and alone in the cracks between thoughts. When she woke she was laying on a soft bed and covered in furs. Her flesh was clammy and her hair matted by dried sweat. Crisp air and silver moonlight peaked through a tent flap nearby, and her ears were filled with the singing of insects, the hooting of owls, and the clockwork rumble of Kylie’s snores.