Leaving Home
Chapter Two of the Essence Tales 4 (Rough Draft)
Note: This is a work in progress. I am writing a sequel series to my Essence Tales trilogy: The Dragon’s Gift; The Dragon’s Song; The Dragon’s Tower. If you haven’t read those, there could be some spoilers here, if you care about such things. However, after the opening, this story is meant to stand on its own. If you would like to read the first three books, they are available on Amazon. They are intentionally on the shorter side. So, don’t imagine LoTR-sized tomes :) This link will take you to the first three books. Essence Tales Trilogy
Chapter Two
Leaving Home
“In the arms of…”
Enryeal’s voice was quiet, barely a whisper, as he walked along a sand-strewn path of polished stones. The path was ancient, carefully laid out centuries ago.
“…the desert and the arid wind…”
He lifted his left hand, a small scar cut diagonally across the top, and made a simple gesture at the mention of the wind.
“…you will hear the silence…”
Absent-mindedly, he paused and turned left, following the path as he had many times before.
“…of the stars.”
He allowed the prayer to sink in for a few moments before beginning again, “In the arms of the desert….”
When he reached the end of the path, Enryeal knew he had recited the sacred words forty-four times. Raising his head, he gestured once more, blessing the Hidden Stars, and turned for home. His gray robes fluttered in the late afternoon wind. His hood shielded his head from the still searing sun above. He reached up and scratched his short, grey and copper beard. His skin was tanned from living in the desert for so many years. Glancing up to measure the sun’s position, his blue eyes stood out like fresh water in the barren landscape of red rocks and sand.
He came to the edge of a long, snaking canyon stretching for miles before him. This was Eoshen-Ri, the Canyon of the Stars, home to a small group of monks devoted to a small sect known as the Hidden Keepers. Enryeal stepped into a large wooden basket baked gray by the heat and smoothed by the blowing sand. He’d been told the wood was the most ancient artifact belonging to the monks of the monastery hidden in the canyon’s depths. Some even believed it was from another world, for it neither rotted nor weakened and was believed to be a thousand years old. Enryeal did not know whether this was true.
He lowered himself using the rope and pulley system to the canyon floor. He walked for about an hour before arriving at the monastery, The Keep of Eoshen, a large stone structure with several towers rising high into the air, but well below the high rim of the canyon walls. Lanterns glowed warmly to either side of the wide door to the keep, which now stood open. Enryeal climbed the short path of stairs leading up to the doors and frowned as he saw several figures just inside. Even at a distance, he could see by the way they shifted their feet that something was wrong. One of the men looked over and spotted him. He rushed out of the doorway.
“Enry! At last! Come quickly. Master Chalen has asked for you—for everyone actually,” the man said.
“Dravil, slow down. What has happened?” Enryeal asked.
Dravil was a little taller than Enryeal, had a long white beard and very little hair atop his head. His brown eyes darted to the left as he replied, “I’m not sure. A messenger arrived a few hours ago…half dead, the poor fellow. All I can tell you is that he is from the monastery in Partha.”
Enryeal followed Dravil inside. They climbed several flights of stairs, joined by other monks dressed in the gray and brown robes of their Order. They gathered in a large hall on the second floor of the first tower. Enryeal felt his stomach grumble. He was hungry and thirsty. Attending a meeting like this was not what he’d been anticipating.
As they entered the hall, he realized that everyone was present. Though only forty-one men lived here, it was extremely rare to find them all together at once. They were people of solitude and silence. Gathering together was not something any of them relished. Enryeal found a space near the door and leaned against the wall. Night had fallen outside, and only darkness could be seen beyond the small windows. The hall glowed with a red light cast by large red gems inset along the wall and above in the ceiling. The gems were said to have fallen from the sky shortly after the founding monks arrived at the canyon. Master Chalen stood at the center of the hall, scanning the room as though counting. He was an imposing figure. He was a little over seven feet tall. His skin was dark against which his short white beard almost seemed to glow. Normally, his face wore a smile, but at the moment he looked as though he wanted to scold someone. His brown eyes seemed both sad and… worried. Enryeal straightened when Chalen’s eyes rested on him for a moment as though he knew what Enryeal was thinking. The man nodded once as though satisfied and cleared his throat. Everyone fell silent.
“As you all know by now, a messenger has come to us from our brothers and sisters in Partha. Sadly, he has not survived the journey. An hour ago, he began his journey to his home with the Hidden Stars.” Chalen bowed his head, and as one, all of the monks made a circular gesture over their hearts. Chalen raised his head and continued. “Before he died, he delivered his message to us.” He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment as he took a breath. When he opened them, he was staring right at Enryeal, whose heart skipped a beat as Chalen spoke. “It is a dire message, my friends. Cardis Tor has fallen into the sea.”
Gasps and uncharacteristic curses filled the air as the gathering took in the words. Enryeal’s breath caught in his throat and his heartbeat quickened. Though he was the youngest among them by far, he well knew what the words meant.
“150 years ago, a prophecy was discovered hidden in a wall at the Parthan Citadel of Eoshen. It was a letter from the great prophet Patryx who even predicted when the scroll would be discovered in the wall. When the Emperor of Partha opened the scroll, it is said his face paled, and he trembled with fear. Partha, he commanded immediately, would not wage a war of conquest again until Cardis Tor fell into the sea—The Long Peace began and has never been broken,” Chalen said. He clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing. “The emperor burned the scroll, but before he did, one of our fellow monks, a woman whose name is lost to us, gained his permission to read the scroll. What we know now comes from her. Partha will declare a war of conquest when Cardis Tor falls into the sea—indeed they have already declared war against the Empire of Ghann across the Channel of Par-Ghann. They’ve bided their time building and preparing for what many thought was an impossible day.” Chalen began to cry softly. “Our brothers and sisters in Partha are dead. Killed to the last. This messenger was the only one to escape. Old hatreds resurface and our connection to Patryx brought about swift retribution.” Silence fell heavily over the room. Enryeal’s mind raced. His face reddened. This cannot stand! He wanted to shout the words and hear them echo off the canyon walls outside. The starburn within his chest warmed, and his palms began to glow with a shimmering, golden light. He took a deep breath and calmed himself as best he could. The light dimmed, the power receded. When he looked up, master Chalen was staring at him once more and shook his head slightly. Enryeal’s cheeks grew red once more, but this time not in anger. A monk of Eoshen controls their anger—always.
Master Chalen gestured with his right hand and the red, glowing gems around the hall dimmed by half. In a quiet, yet terrible tone, he said, “This cannot stand.”
Enryeal’s eyes snapped into focus on his Master as his own thoughts were reflected at him. Chalen stared at him intently now as though they were the only two in the room. “Patryx left us a single instruction for this day. One of us will go forth and find the Queen of Dragons at The Whispering Stones.”
“Only one?” a man said, his voice heavy with sorrow and anger, Enryeal noted. It made him feel better to know he wasn’t the only one among them struggling to keep his emotions in check.
Chalen nodded. “Yet, that one will carry something with him. Now listen.”
As Master Chalen spoke, Enryeal began to feel an odd sensation. He scanned the room searching for the face of the monk he thought would be chosen. All that Master Chalen described would prove to be difficult. No one even knew where the mythical Whispering Stones were, for one thing. A Queen of Dragons? Who was that? Were dragons even real? He’d never heard of one actually being seen. He scratched at his beard, paused, and realized everyone was looking at him.
“Enryeal, did you hear what I said?” Master Chalen said, raising an eyebrow. His eyes always seemed to look right into Enryeal’s soul.
He shook his head. “No, master. I’m sorry.”
Chalen cleared his throat and said loudly, “And the youngest among you shall it be. This is what Patryx said, and at 27 years old, Enry, you are the youngest among us.”
Enryeal looked around. He sought words to argue his case. He reached for an idea, any idea that could save him from leaving his beloved home. There was only silence within him. His shoulders slumped. He looked at the floor. “Very well, when do I leave?” he said.
“In the morning at first light,” Chalen said. He clapped his hands twice and turned to two monks who always stood nearby to him. “Bring everything I instructed,” he said.
A few minutes later, Enryeal found himself standing in the center of a large circle. His brothers stood around him chanting an old song some said was first sung the day the Keep’s foundations were laid so long ago. The tune was simple yet beautiful and comforting. Enryeal knew it well and hummed along. Chalen stood before him and held up a necklace with a green gem set in silver attached to a silver chain. It gleamed slightly with a green light but so subtly that Enryeal thought he could have imagined it. Chalen held the necklace up over his head and let the chain and gem dangle.
“Now, my brothers, sing!” he said.
The monks raised their voices, and flowing tones of bass and tenor, weaving harmonies about the simple melody, filled the air. Enryeal heard the sacred song as though it were entirely new. As they sang, the song rose and fell in its own natural rhythm. The gem in the necklace flared to life with green and golden light. The light grew ever brighter as they sang and Enryeal lost all sense of time. Swaying from side to side, Chalen sang with his eyes closed. The light filling the necklace seemed to flow from outside of it, streaks coming through the windows as though even the stars above were lending their holy light to this moment. There was a flash. Enryeal blinked, wincing as his eyes struggled to stay open. Master Chalen moved swiftly, placing the necklace around Enryeal’s neck, and as the chain and pendant settled against his skin, he felt a searing pain. He cried out, but it only lasted a moment. He looked down and breathed out.
“By the Hidden Stars of the North!” he said in a hushed whisper.
The necklace appeared to melt into his body. After a few seconds, it completely vanished. He looked up at Master Chalen, who smiled brightly at him even as tears flowed from his eyes.
“Now, my son, we will all be with you.”