Sacred: Eslura's Calling Read online

  Alistair walked around the room, lighting the candles and oil lamps on the tables that hadn’t been knocked over. The light gradually illuminated a library with more books than Bea had ever seen stuffed into such a small room. Shelves overflowing with tomes reached so high into the air that no ladder could ever dream of reaching their tops. Stacks of books lay piled all over the dusty oak floor, some in stacks even taller than Bea. A fireplace took up the entirety of the back wall. Its mouth, which was shaped like a gopher, was so large that all four of them, excluding Galabear, of course, could have stood inside it with room to spare. But with no logs and dust piled so high they could have been tiny mountains, Bea assumed that the mouth had not held a fire in a long time.

  “So,” Alpin said, pulling a chair from the table in the center of the room and sitting, “let’s hear it. What is a Shadow Reaper doing in Eslura?”

  Alistair pulled a chair from the table, took the books off it and set them on the floor, then sat across from Alpin and gestured for Bea and Reagan to do the same. “Well, to be quite frank,” the lizard said, “I had hoped we would not need this gathering in the first place, but it seems as though Amelia’s foretelling was correct.”

  “Don’t tell me that old hag is back too, I won’t believe ya,” Alpin said.

  “No, Amelia is not back, Alpin.” Alistair said it in such a way that Bea thought perhaps he was pained that she was not back. He continued, “Amelia will never be back. Obellius took care of that, as you know.”

  An awkward silence ensued in which Alpin and Alistair lowered their gazes to the table, leaving Reagan and Bea looking at each other. Bea had no idea what the lizard and gopher were talking about and wondered if Reagan was equally clueless, but she dared not speak and anger the gopher.

  At last, Alpin cleared his throat and said quietly, “Okay, then what is it?”

  “I wanted to believe she was wrong,” Alistair said. “But, alas, I was the one who was wrong. Before her passing, she told me of a vision she had. Even then, she was not clear on what the vision was telling her, but she seemed quite adamant that fourteen years would pass and Obellius would rise again with the power of the Book of Fire.”

  Alpin crossed his arms and twitched his whiskers. “I find it hard to believe that she would rely on a vision.”

  “I did as well, until Beatrice arrived. Amelia also foretold that fourteen years would pass before a new Sacred Head would be chosen by Eslura. Today, I saw a golden flash erupt in the sky, the same one that preceded Amelia’s choosing.”

  “Twee!” Alpin chirped and rolled his eyes. “That’s impossible. She doesn’t even have the mark of the Sacred, let alone the mark of the Head.”

  “Beatrice,” Alistair said gazing at her wrist, “may I see your wrist, please?”

  Bea tensed and she grabbed her wrist, covering the mark with her opposite hand. The symbol, they’re talking about the symbol. She felt their eyes burning on her neck as she stared down at where its golden circles were embedded into her skin. She wanted to defend herself, say they had it wrong, that there wasn’t anything there, but she looked up and extended her arm, wrist up, across the table, wincing when Alistair clutched it with his cold claws. Alpin leaned forward and stared a second, sucking his big teeth, then exhaling like a leaking balloon and sinking down in his chair. “The Sacred Symbol. You can’t be serious.”

  “I am just as shocked as you are, my friend,” Alistair said, “but it seems our Eslura has chosen her next Sacred Head.”

  “Sacred Head?” Bea looked at the symbol on her wrist, then up at the lizard. “What does that mean? What is it?” She feared the worst.

  “Well,” Alistair began, rubbing his long grey beard, “I am quite surprised that you do not already know. As Sacred Head, you are the guardian of the Sacred Rulers and their respective Books. It is your job to protect the elemental balance of Eslura.”

  Sacred Rulers, Books, elemental balance? She didn’t even know where or what Eslura was, let alone the first thing about protecting some sort of balance in the strange place. What if she couldn’t live up to her new title—whatever the heck it meant? What if they decided she wasn’t fit—which she didn’t think she was to begin with—and sent her back to the Dildeckers?

  “Aargh! So what?” Alpin groaned. “Obellius is rising and a silly girl who has never even heard of the Sacred Head is supposed to stop him? We’re doomed! I’ll be going back to my hole in the ground. Never should have left to begin with. Good luck, all!”

  “I can always count on you for your positivity, Alpin,” Alistair said. “However, Beatrice is our Sacred Head, and if Eslura deems it so, then I have more than enough confidence that she will be able to fulfill her role and bring back the Book of Fire to its rightful spot.”

  Bea’s head spun as she stared at the symbol on her wrist. She felt helpless, like a bottle tossed on the waves of a powerful storm, water pouring over and drowning her. Each breath she took felt like another wave crashing down, pulling her beneath the surface and dragging her down.

  The thought reminded her of the first time she had visited the ocean. She stood on the sandbar, the water sparkling in the sun and blinding her to where it dropped off into the deep, hundred-foot sea. Clueless, she stepped forward, her mind too focused on the seagulls playing in the distance to see the abyss only a few steps in front of her. She sunk like a rock, the water pulling her down, deeper and deeper into its murky depths.

  She was helpless, thrashing her arms as she desperately yelled incomprehensibly through the thick water. Her heart pounded against her ribcage as the water seeped into her mouth. She flailed and kicked and…

  “Beatrice?” Alistair said, pulling her back from her thoughts, up from the abyss. She did not realize how tightly she was clutching her wrist. Her hand was turning red. She released it and looked up at the lizard. All three of them were staring wide-eyed at her.

  Alistair opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could, a loud clang came from the fireplace. Black dust cascaded out of its mouth and covered the floor, masking the piles of books beneath its thick veil.

  “The Reaper!” Alpin yelped. He leapt out of his seat and hid behind Alistair, who immediately stood from his chair and extended his claws, a green energy flowing between them.

  The clattering increased, and more smoke blew down into the room, clogging Bea’s nose and burning her eyes. She covered her mouth, passing the symbol before her eyes again. Reagan sneezed loudly.

  A single figure emerged from the mouth with their hands held up to protect their face. Alistair lowered his claws, extinguishing the green light, and squinted into the smoke.

  “Millennium?” Alistair gasped.

  “Twee!” Alpin added.

  Alistair invited the woman to sit and pulled a chair over for her while Alpin tried to recover his wits. The woman, whose windswept grey hair reminded Bea of a lion’s mane, took slow sips on her freshly brewed tea—insisted upon by Alistair to soothe her after her flight and begrudgingly procured by Alpin. Her thin lips curled to a smile as warm as the steam that billowed from her cup. She peered around the library curiously, adjusting the puffy, wool scarf around her neck as it partially blocked her view. In the warmth of the room, Bea thought it silly for her to wear such a thick garment, but she didn’t dare say anything.

  “Alpin, darling,” the woman said, chuckling, “I hate to admit it, but you might have more dusty old books in here than I have in my own library.”

  “It’s not really a fair competition,” Alpin said, “considering you have Galecrest’s entire collection at your disposal.”

  Millennium smirked and took another sip of tea. She mouthed the words “perhaps one day” before setting the cup back down on the table.

  “Millennium,” Alistair interrupted, “might I ask what brings you here?”

  In answering his question, the woman, Millennium, recalled the story of her coming to them. She spoke of a distant kingdom, Galecrest, and its dragons, whose powers seemed
to have disappeared overnight. Bea thought she misheard the woman at first. Dragons? she thought, fascinated to hear of their existence in the world. She exchanged an astonished glance and brow raise with Reagan. But the part that seemed to catch the lizard’s attention the most was her mentioning of a blinding golden flash that streaked across the night sky during her flight.

  “So, you saw it as well?” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

  “Well, it nearly sent me flying into a tree!” she said. “All of Eslura simply must have seen it. It lit up the entire sky. I could not imagine how they could miss it.”

  “I didn’t see it,” Alpin huffed.

  “I hope you were not the only one who missed it,” Alistair said. “It would be of great concern to me to know that others know of Beatrice’s arrival. At least for now.”

  Bea shifted in her seat. “W-why?” She looked around, hoping the gopher wouldn’t make that angry sound at her.

  Alistair cleared his throat. “Not all…um, how should I put this…remember your predecessor fondly.” He frowned. “Amelia, though well respected and loved by many, is sadly, and unjustly, in my opinion, remembered mostly for her failure to cast Obellius into oblivion.”

  Millennium nodded. “Amelia fought her final fight with more strength and courage than I have ever seen in any Eslurian. It was a true heartache to see it all end so tragically.”

  “Indeed,” Alistair said.

  “Anyways,” she sipped her tea and continued, “I had left for Zybersia to check on the Guard stationed outside of the Sacred Chamber. With Elmryn slain, the Chamber, as you know, no longer holds the same protective power as it used to and relies solely on the strength of the Sacred Guard alone. I fear that something has happened to the Book.”

  Alistair frowned. “So, then it’s true. Amelia knew of it all. First, the Book of Fire, then the arrival of the Sacred Head, and...” He bit his lower lip, seeming to skip over whatever came next. “I thought nothing of her warnings. Like the rest of Eslura, I assumed her mind had succumbed to the shadows. Obellius had a great deal of power over her, not only in physical strength but emotionally as well. It was only logical to conclude that—”

  “There’s no need to beat yourself up, darling,” Millennium said, cutting off his ramblings. “We can only move forward from here, yes? The Book has simply been...misplaced. Surely, with all our efforts we can return it to its rightful Sacred Chamber.”

  “Twee! You didn’t let Alistair finish his little story,” Alpin said, “He just happened to forget the part about Obellius rising to power again.”

  “Alistair?” Millennium raised her brow at the lizard. “Is this true?”

  Alistair gulped so loud Bea could hear it. “I’m afraid so,” he said, “I feared that talking about it would further cement its reality. But seeing that Amelia was right once before, I can only suspect that it is true.”

  The three Eslurians stared at one another, presumably digesting the new information, when the candles suddenly whisked out and darkness suffocated the room. Bea heard shuffling beside her and squinted, finding Alistair had stood up from his chair and was glancing around the room. He reached for a nearby oil lamp and relit the wick.

  “Ah,” Millennium said, her face cast in orange, “so it has not only returned to Eslura, but it has also retained its powers. Shadow Reapers do have quite the knack for sucking all light and life out of a situation. But you don’t suppose it’s found us already, do you?”

  “Indeed, I do,” Alistair said. He turned to face the gopher. “It is no longer safe here, Alpin. Would you please escort Beatrice and Reagan to Galecrest? With the council room in the Sacred City destroyed, it is the next best place to discuss what to do about the coming darkness. With the High Moon Festival coming up, all Rulers will be present regardless.”

  “Bah! That stupid thing? I hate crowds.” Alpin shook his paws at the lizard. “Also, I am not your personal escort. Why don’t you take them yourself?”

  “Would you like to stay behind and deal with the Shadow Reaper yourself, then?” Alistair said. “Can a gopher of your stature hold off such a monstrosity?” Alpin scrunched his nose and looked to the ground. “And might I remind you that Beatrice is the Sacred Head. It is all of our duty to ensure that she stays safe until she learns to control her powers. If that Shadow Reaper were to get its claws on her, it would be a great trouble for us all. This should not come as a surprise to you.”

  Powers? Bea thought. She flexed her fingers and wondered what he could possibly mean. Her mind first jumped to the red and blue masked hero from her favorite comic book movie, but she hadn’t been bitten by any spiders—at least she thought…Camp Tossbridge wouldn’t be the last place she would expect that to happen—and she couldn’t imagine ever being able to fly between buildings like he had. It was all too bizarre, and she was scared of heights anyways.

  “Fine,” Alpin spat, shaking his staff at the lizard. “But you owe me big for this! And I’m not talkin’ just a simple ‘thank you.’ I’m talking several hundred kaps in my paws, got it?”

  “We can discuss your reward when we meet again,” Alistair said.

  Alpin hobbled over to the fireplace, tapping his staff on the floor and the piles of books to guide him through the darkness. He walked straight into the firebox, brushed his paw against the back wall, and stopped above the surface of a small stone. He pressed his paw slightly and the stone walls slid apart to reveal a secret passageway through the back of the house, at the end of which Bea could see stars and the light of the moons.

  “Galabear!” Alpin whistled through his paw. The giant beast came bounding back into the room and bent down by his side. Alpin climbed onto Galabear’s back and gestured for Bea and Reagan to join him. “You heard the lizard. Off we go!”

  9

  Beyond the Shop Window

  Barnaby stood beside the shop door, his pectoral fins trembling and his gills quivering. The sounds of the outside world filled his ears and he felt like he might faint, collapse on the ground in the alley and stay there, paralyzed, until Pemadee came back and dragged him inside. His hands were slick with sweat and his chest was tight.

  “Okay, Barnaby,” he told himself. “Nice and easy steps. You got thi—” Something shoved him in the back, flinging him forward. He nearly lost his balance.

  “Quit standin’ in the middle of the road, aye?” a burly man shouted, edging around him and quickly disappearing out the other side of the alley.

  Barnaby collected himself and tightened his hood, which had been knocked askew by the man. He unraveled his scarf and wrapped it again, double and triple checking that no gill or scale or fin was visible. He took a deep breath and was ready to step into the outside world. If ready meant utterly terrified, that is.

  One step at a time, Barnaby slowly rounded the corner of the alley, poking his head out and looking into the busy town square.

  “Whoa,” he gasped, stepping back into the safety of the alley as civilians brushed past. He pressed himself against the wall and took several more deep breaths before attempting again.

  Ovallia, a city he had known only through a few photos in books, came to life before him, and he was determined to be a part of it. He stepped out from the alley, pumped out his chest, and walked toward the market at the center of the city.

  Tall, marble columns surrounded the market square, which was open to the glistening sky. As Barnaby approached it, he stared up at it in wonder. The sky! He gasped. It’s really up there. Just over the tops of the buildings ahead, he saw the stone head of the enormous statue of Bellbour. It looked just like it did in the guidebooks, except much larger. The man stood over the bridge connecting Ovallia to mainland Eslura, a constant reminder of the city’s first Sacred Ruler. Barnaby stared at it a moment in disbelief, basking in the rays of the sun until he realized he was wasting time and plunged into the market square.

  Civilians coursed through the crowded market carrying empty woven baskets ready to be filled with the day’s
catch. The scent of boiled clams, lobsters, oysters, and all the like wafted through the air and made Barnaby’s stomach coil in hunger. He imagined their savory flavors dancing on his tongue and smiled. People laughed and haggled; vendors shouted their wares; children shrieked with joy; a juggler on a unicycle tossed six flaming balls in the air and caught them again without ever looking down. Barnaby straddled the narrow pathways between the townsfolk, tourists, and many stalls offering exotic fruits, meat on a stick, unique hand-crafted thingamabobs and colorful whatsits.

  Barnaby eyed a wagon of purple fruits and swiped one when its shopkeeper turned to chat with a neighboring vendor. He bit a chunk off the fist-sized delight, puckered his lips at the pungent tartness, and swallowed.

  “Hey,” the shopkeeper bellowed. He leaned over the wagon and snapped his fingers at Barnaby. “You got a presp for that, kid?” Barnaby whipped around to face him, staring at his uneven mustache. “Yeah, you,” the man growled. “You gonna pay or what?”

  Broke, Barnaby dropped the fruit and ran.

  “Hey!” the man shouted behind him. “Thief, thief! Somebody call the Guard!”

  The Guard, Barnaby felt his heart drop. The word could only be associated with one thing: the Sacred Guard. Pemadee had stressed night upon night that the Sacred Guard was not to be fooled with. They were stone-cold warriors trained in Morgaedion to protect the cities, and more importantly the Rulers that resided there. The Guard held the power to send anyone they pleased to the depths of Morgaedion, and Barnaby knew they wanted nothing more than to send an Olphin like him there.

  Barnaby fled to the outskirts of the market and stumbled upon what he assumed to be the realm of the fishermen. Dozens of docks stretched out into the sparkling waters surrounded by glorious ships, some tall and many-masted while others were mere skiffs. Scruffy men and burly creatures fiddled with nets, wound ropes around cleats and shoulders, and carried barrels and buckets up and down the piers. Seagulls dove courageously down and fought for food against the battering hands of the fishermen, some escaping with mouths full, while others just flapped away squawking angrily.