Aerisia
Fantasy
Synopsis:
The mystery of other worlds is not one Hannah Winters ever thought she’d solve. However, the day she spots a brown-robed stranger with a magical staff in a neighbor’s field is the day she also discovers Aerisia, a magical land beyond Earth’s sunset.
Here in Aerisia, Hannah is believed to be the Artan, a legendary heroine prophesied to deliver Aerisia from the Dark Powers. Plenty of people, including the Simathe, a race of immortal warriors, and the Moonkind, people of the Moon, are willing to help her discover her true identity, but Hannah’s just an ordinary girl from Earth. She doesn't have any latent magical abilities and she’s not the Artan. However, her allies aren't seeing it that way. Neither are her enemies. In fact, Hannah’s life is in jeopardy nearly from the moment she arrives in Aerisia. And becoming the Artan may be the only way to survive…
Sarah Ashwood grew up in the wooded hills outside the oldest town in Oklahoma. Sarah is author of the Sunset Lands Beyond Trilogy, the poetry volume "A Minstrel's Musings," and the novella "Amana," along with numerous other published works. In her imagination, she soars effortlessly through historical and fantastical worlds. In real life, she lives (mostly) quietly at home with her husband and sons. .
Instagram: @runnerwritermom
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The
day was darkening, but it wasn’t the peaceful shadows of twilight overtaking
the sky. The day was tranquil, but it wasn’t the calm stillness of a summer day
drawing to a contended close. A cool breeze whipped up, teasing strands of hair
out of the braid I’d re-plaited this morning. The force of it blew and tangled
my horse’s mane. Pulling my cloak tightly about my shoulders, I studied the
forbidding sky. Dark clouds scudding across its face were gathering into an
ominous, foreboding mass.
“It’s
going to storm,” I announced.
A
needless comment in light of the obvious signs, but I felt like I had to draw
my companions’ attention to the fact. They were plodding along, every now and
then casting a glance upwards, but otherwise appeared unconcerned.
A
raindrop hit the tip of my nose, sliding over my lips. I wiped it away.
“Shouldn’t we be looking for shelter?”
I
hated storms. As a child, I would quiver under the blankets while they raged
outside my bedroom window. When the thunder was so loud it shook the house, I
would run to my parents’ room, where I’d be held tight and comforted until the
furor had passed.
As
a young woman, naturally I no longer ran to my parents, but I still disliked
storms. Holding my breath and counting the seconds between lightning flashes
and peals of thunder, I could never fall asleep until the fury had abated. This
oncoming storm was triggering an assault of memories, and I couldn’t tear my
gaze from the threatening sky.
Another
raindrop hit my gloved hand. Its twin splashed the tip of my ear. My hands were
starting to shake. The wind picked up again, rustling the tall grass on either
side of the road. Other than that there were no noises and, besides our party,
no signs of any living creatures. All was eerily silent: the calm before the
storm. My horse was tense, its ears pricked. A distant crash of thunder; he
shook his head nervously. Lightning flashed though the clouds. Though still a
ways away, the storm was obviously moving closer.
I
couldn’t stand it anymore. “High-Chief, please, can’t we find shelter? I don’t
want to be out in this!”
Not
surprisingly, the man was far from alarmed. “It’s only a storm. It will pass.”
His
unruffled demeanor made my anger boil. Jerking my horse to a stop, I rounded on
him furiously. “I know it’s only a storm,” I yelled, rising in the stirrups. “I
don’t care! I don’t want to be caught in it! What’s wrong with you?”
Those
pit-black eyes narrowed angrily, and I plunked back down. Suddenly, the gaze
pinning me was more frightening than the imminent storm. What was I thinking,
screaming at him like that? Was I crazy?
“Look
about you,” he lashed out, a keen edge to his voice the storm could never hope
to match. “Is there anywhere to take shelter?”
The
man had a point, even if I hated to admit it. The countryside was all sprawling
fields interspersed with grey boulders, large and small. A few scrubby trees
dotted the landscape, while mountains loomed large in the distance. There were no houses, no caves, no trees, no
roofs to hide under.
What to do? What to do?
Inside their gloves, my hands were openly
shaking.
“The
rain will not harm you. We ride.”
That was Ilgard. The man was implacable.
He
and his men spurred his horses forward, but I refused to budge. As he passed
by, the Simathe leaned from his saddle, catching my horse firmly by the bridle.
The animal followed meekly…until I sawed viciously on the reins, making him
whip his head to the side and tear loose from the Simathe’s grasp.
Directly
overhead, thunder boomed. I panicked, jumped, my silver spurs raking my horse’s
flanks. Already spooked, this proved too much for the frightened beast. He
bolted down the trail, taking me with him. Gripping the pommel with one hand
and the reins in the other, I held on with all my strength. I don’t know how
long we ran, or how far, before it happened. Thunder crashed, followed by a
brilliant flash of lightning. It struck me…yet it didn’t. One moment I was
tearing along at breakneck speed, and the next—a boom, a flash, and I was
enfolded in a dazzling veil of white.
Time
morphed into a murky soup of air, space, and speed. Beneath me, my horse
struggled to run, but it was like moving in slow motion. My body felt frozen,
my motions on horseback sluggish, and my fingers unresponsive as they tried to
relax their grip on the saddle horn and reins.
A
fierce rush of wind blasted us, knocking my horse off its feet. I was still
clinging to his back and fell with him, winding up with one leg pinned beneath
his weight. Terror, obscene and sudden, flooded me like a wave, overwhelming my
mind as I lay helpless on the wet grass. I opened my mouth and tried to scream,
but no sounds came out.
That
white light was around, within, and about me, holding me powerless in its
suffocating grip. I was no longer conscious of the raging storm. Nothing was
left except light and choking panic. Thunder crashed a fourth time, and in its
sonorous peals I heard an evil voice. No, I heard the voice of evil.
Over and over again it called my name, the echoes rolling and crashing like
wild waves against a rocky shore.
“Hannah,”
it called. “Lady Hannah, the Artan. Hannah. Lady Hannah, the Artan. Mighty
deliverer from Earth. Have you come to save these people, this land, from me?
From me?”
A
face materialized, filling the sky over my head: a gleaming white skull. Formed
from the white light enclosing me, vacant eye sockets and a fleshless mouth
smiled a hideous smile as it loomed over me, slowly descending.
“From
me, Hannah? From me, Lady Artan? From me?”
Nonsensical
words. Hideous phrases. I couldn’t figure them out. I couldn’t breathe,
couldn’t think. I was reduced to babbling a mindless, “No, no, no!” My head
shook senselessly from side to side. My horse didn’t move. Was he dead?
Now
the face was upon me, its jaws gaping wide as if to swallow me whole. In the
midst of my panic I reacted, throwing my arms into the air in a defensive
posture. I touched something tangible; a tremendous weight pressed upon me. My
arms trembled violently as I fought to keep from being crushed.
“No,” I screamed. “No! Get away from me, leave
me alone!”
Nothing
at first, then the weight withdrew ever so slightly. Encouraged, I continued
shouting commands and denials. There was a swift pause, one that seemed to last
forever. And then, wonder of wonders!—the face began to fade. Another
breathless moment of horror and hope, and I was able to pick myself up, rising
as far as my pinned leg would allow. With both hands thrust against my
opponent, both palms turned skyward, I continued pushing against the terrible
weight and screaming for it to leave. New life flooded my veins, and my voice
strengthened. To my indescribable relief, as I regained strength, my enemy
seemed to lose his.
“Leave!”
I shouted once more. “Leave me alone!”
As
the words fled my lips this time, a strange steam of blue light leapt from my
fingertips, careened upwards and slammed brutally against the grinning skull.
The thing parted its yawning jaws in a hideous, gurgling scream, not unlike
that of the drocnords. Power, sheer power, replacing any fear, suddenly I was
strong and invincible. There was only this moment, this battle, and the magic
of the blue brilliance bursting from my outstretched hands.
The
monster’s second scream shook the earth. I wanted to double over and press my
hands to my ears, but the magic wouldn’t let me go. Another stupendously loud
crash of thunder, accompanied by the most brilliant flash of lightning yet.
Both the skull and the menacing white light blasted upwards, a fountain of
radiance spraying the clouds, fading into the next lightning bolt that raced
across the sky.
The
instant they were gone, my cerulean light fled as well, and all vigor drained
from my limbs. A heavy shudder convulsed my body, and I toppled backwards into
soft mud. Heavy rains drummed on my face, droplets coursing down my cheeks like
tears. The last thing I remember thinking was that the storm seemed to be
vanishing into the distance.
Consciousness
fled.
My
eyes closed.
The
world went black.
**********************************************************
He had to reach her.
Her horse, frightened as much by its nervous
rider as the storm, had bolted, galloping recklessly down the narrow trail.
They had not gotten far, however, before lightning split the sky, its jagged
edges slanting directly towards the woman fleeing on horseback. In an instant,
both horse and rider were swallowed by a great, blinding flash of light. Rather
than diminish, this searing light grew rapidly, steadily. It hurt his eyes,
this strange brilliance, causing both the Simathe lord and his men to fling
protective arms across their faces.
The
attack came in that one instant of being caught off-guard. They were the most
feared predator of the plains: felines larger than an ox, yet endowed with
supernatural grace, cunning, and speed. Many Aerisians swore they were as
intelligent as humans. Gazing into the depraved, yellow eyes of the beast that
came at him from nowhere, the Simathe High-Chief could readily believe it.
Usually
they hunted alone, or in small prides of two’s and three’s. Deathcats never
attacked in the strong force of fifty or more now threatening to overrun his
company. In the initial onslaught, several of his warriors went down wounded,
their horses killed outright. But in short order, decades of training and
experience rose to the fore. Closing ranks, backs to one another, the Simathe
protected the wounded in their midst. Blades gleamed brightly in the
intermittent flashes of lightning, only to be plunged in and pulled out a dull
red. Blood was everywhere, fouling the air with its peculiar stench. The
screams of wounded horses and dying deathcats filled the night.
Against
normal human strength, the deathcats would almost surely have prevailed. Nevertheless,
the tenacious Simathe could not die, and in the end it was their attackers who
fled, leaving the tired, gory group behind. Those who were able to flee, that
is. Many of the beasts lay dead or dying upon the trampled, blood-and-rain
matted grass. Those still living didn’t breathe much longer.
Throughout
the whole ordeal, one thought pounded desperately in the Simathe’s brain. I
have to reach her… The girl he’d sworn on his honor to protect had been
swallowed whole by that consuming flash of light. Was she dead? Injured? Were
Aerisia’s hopes already doomed? So suddenly?
The
High-Chief fought hard, the desire to reach his Artan second only to the
maddening desire to kill—to destroy the beasts who’d attacked without warning.
At last, skirmish over and enemy defeated, those of his men who were uninjured
dispersed to assist their wounded comrades and mounts. Some ensured that no
deathcats clinging to life would live to breed more of their kind.
The
Simathe High-Chief glanced about, noting the strange tunnel of light was gone
and the storm had receded, as well. Where was the Artan? Whatever that white
brilliance had been, it had destroyed his night vision. Temporarily, he hoped.
For once, he wished mightily for a lantern or a torch, but knew he’d not the
time to find one. Thus, he waited tensely for the next flash of lightning, no
matter how weak, to show him where she was…
When
it came, he saw that she lay ahead on the path—a dark form which, at this
distance, appeared unmoving. He ran. Ignoring the mud, he dropped to his knees,
a small part of him aware of the gentle rain wetting her face. Brushing the
damp hair from her brow, he ran his eyes swiftly over her inert body, assessing
the damages. There were none—visible, at least—and he thought she breathed
steadily. Next, he glided sure hands over her neck, arms, and legs, stopping
short when he found one foot was pinned beneath the horse. Grimly, he laid a
hand to the animal’s side.
It
was dead.
Even
alone, he could have moved the beast enough to free her leg, but that would
mean shoving it aside, her limb taking the brunt of the weight. If weren’t
already broken, such a maneuver might change that. If it were broken, moving the horse risked
worsening the damage. Hesitating briefly, the warrior-lord decided against
going it alone. Instead, he reached out mentally to three of his men.
Over
here—to me.
Torches
had finally been lit at the scene of battle. Those carried by his warriors
bobbed along the path as they hurried over. While waiting for help to arrive,
Ilgard resumed his position of kneeling over the lass, shielding her from the
falling rain with his own body. The lightning had passed too far away to be of
any use, nor could he hear her breathing over the downpour. To reassure himself
of its steady rising and falling, he placed a hand lightly on her chest,
keeping it there until the torches were close enough to see that she breathed
regularly.
What
could have happened? It had to have been deliberate—the strange, consuming
lightning and the deathcats’ assault occurring simultaneously. Another attempt
by The Evil to destroy the lady Artan? The Simathe lord feared so. He knew they
were fortunate indeed that only her horse, and not her life, had been lost in
the attack.
With
minimal effort, the four warriors lifted the dead animal, moving it aside. Soon
as the pressure on her leg was released, the girl moaned, began to stir.
Reoccupying his position next to her, Ilgard felt the leg just freed. Running a
hand cautiously from thigh to toes, he was relieved to feel no obvious breaks.
She moaned again, louder this time, her head rolling restlessly from side to
side. Leaning over, he pressed a palm to her shoulder, pinning her against the
muddy ground.
“Lie
still, my lady.”
Miraculously,
at his touch, the sound of his voice, she calmed, stilled. Not knowing what
else to do, Ilgard scooped her up carefully his arms. Her dead weight, the way
her head drooped upon his shoulder, prompted an exchange of worried glances
among his men. What harm the light may have wrought they could not tell, and
neither could she. She was completely unconscious, and not likely to come out
of it soon.
Without
a word, the men strode hastily through the tall, damp grass, heading back
towards their comrades. The rain came down even harder, and the High-Chief
feared they would never reach Treygon this night.
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