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The Alkoryn Chronicles

Part I Scripture from the Past

John Hunt Publishing Ltd.

Mystical Words

The figure lay face-down in the clear ocean water, the waves licking at its naked feet. The skin was pale, almost translucent. The vast bay was covered in fine white sand, and scattered with small speckled pebbles and shells. The sand was scorching, yet the form did not move, seeming oblivious to the burning sun. As the water drifted back and forth, the head sank further into the sand. A sun-dried hood hid its face and its limbs lay helplessly by its side. The body wore armour, from under which tattered clothes could be seen peeking out – these looked oddly unscathed despite its journey across the seas. The strong bindings still held, in defiance of the pressure they were under from the bloated carcass.

The incoming tide slowly pushed the body further up the shore, where it lay, waiting ...

* * *

The tide was once again coming in as Daimeh finished his daily routine of delivering various commodities to the people of Alkoryn, his people. Although his profession was regarded as an important one, he always referred to himself as 'the delivery boy'. As the grandson of the sovereign, he did not have to work, but he felt a personal obligation to contribute to the economy of his village, Lybas.

Carelessly, he strolled barefoot across the warm sands, a slim, athletic, young man, dressed in loose-fitting, beige clothes, crafted for him by his mother. She was the village tailor and was incredibly talented at her profession. After a day's work his attire was somewhat in need of a wash; however, this did not worryDaimeh and, feeling quite content, he enjoyed the fresh-smelling sea breeze which tugged and played with his ear length, dark auburn hair.

As he beachcombed, his skimming walk left odd-shaped footprints in the moist sand: a shallow elongated imprint, then a firmly pushed-down one. Daimeh would usually take a relaxing stroll along the Galunda Bay after his work and collect kelp and shells. He had already found a few pieces and placed them in his hip pouch. As he lazily walked, sand stuck to his soles. Suddenly, he felt a jolt of pain from his foot. Daimeh yelped and hastily lifted the offending limb. He hopped on the spot as the sharp pain quickly became a numbing throb. Realising he had stumped his toe on a jutting, solid object, he peered down at the cause of his discomfort and noticed a particularly beautiful shell, washed-up by the tide and half-cemented in the sticky sand; a polished pearly husk poking upwards. The pain in his foot was instantly forgotten as he stared at the lovely object before bending to quickly dislodge the large, spindle-shaped shell with agile fingers and hold it in his hand. After brushing away the excess sand, an opalescent, perfectly smooth surface was revealed, adorned with swirling marbled markings. He'll be very happy with this one, he thought, opening his hip pouch and removing some kelp. He carefully wrapped it around the shell before placing it with the others and continuing on his way ...

* * *

With every wave more fresh sand washed ashore and Daimeh's feet sank deeper. He gazed out along the shoreline in contemplation, then looked out to the hazy horizon, he had always questioned what was over the seas and had often thought about acquiring his own boat for an expedition. Yet, as he had been taught from a young age by Alkoryn scholars, the lands beyond Alkoryn were impassable.

Closing his oval, peridot-green eyes, relaxing his jaw and letting out a weighty sigh, Daimeh tossed his head back and ran his hands through his hair. He stood still for a moment, appreciating the invigorating sea air tickling his nasal canals. Daimeh had almost reached a meditative state when he suddenly noticed a nauseating smell of decomposition commingling with the natural fragrance of the ocean. He immediately awoke from his trance-like state and the brilliance of the sun pierced his eyes. He reached his hand up to block it out and used his other to cover his softly pointed nose. Stunned and squinting, he surveyed the immediate vicinity; there was nothing. He looked out further along the shore, and after a short while, an unusual glint caught his eye. He could see instantly that it did not come from a shell but from something unnatural. A foul smell and something that glinted unnaturally in the afternoon sun, two strange things on his familiar beach. It came to Daimeh that both things could be related. Without another thought, he sped through the warm shallows, bursting with curiosity. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his gaze fixed on the glinting object as its shine brightened. He wondered, as he neared it, if it was armour. Alkoryn was free of conflict and Daimeh thought back to the rhymes of war he had heard in his childhood. One fable he remembered particularly well was "The Winged Giant";

The day was pure,
And the skies were clear,
When the giant soared,
Above us he roared,
Blue was its colour,
With claws to sever,
As it dived towards Alkoryn.
Our people scattered and ran,
Some of us wore armour,
Yet our minds were sombre,
But, with swords by our sides,
We fought and we died,
As our numbers were great,
We battled with weight.
Then the giant let out a mighty yell.
And from the sky it thunderously fell.

Daimeh recited the rhyme as he ran, and before long he was within reaching distance of the anomaly. The sickly aroma had intensified and with his dirty tunic held to his nose, Daimeh flopped to his knees, staring ahead, his mind blank.

A calm tide was washing against the muscular body, but it did not move. It was huge. Curious, Daimeh reached out and brushed away the few grains of sand that were clinging to the glossed armour, like flour to sticky dough. Cautiously, he gripped the smooth edge of the chest-piece. The metal was boiling hot from the sun. He tried to release the armour from the body, but was unable to endure the heat; instead he grabbed the cadaver's swollen arm. It felt sticky and also warmed by the sun. Daimeh was determined to turn the body over, so he held it with both hands, letting his beige tunic fall from his nose as he did so. The stench was now even worse than before. He lifted the arm with effort, then quickly wedged one hand underneath. He heaved with all his strength, his feet digging into the sand. The body had absorbed a lot of water and was twice Daimeh's size, but still he persisted. He was stronger than he looked and he managed to slowly roll the corpse across the sand until it slumped onto its back with a dull thud.

Catching a glimpse of the uncovered body, Daimeh recoiled. "What the ...?" He had never laid eyes upon such a brute; it lay motionless and clad in sand covered armour, a sword sheathed at its hip. A dark hood still hid the face – inviting him to reveal who was under it. Using only the tips of his fingers, Daimeh carefully lifted the soggy cloth.

He jumped back, shrieking, fighting the desire to flee. The thing's wretched, lifeless eyes were locked on Daimeh's; it was as if they had already known where he would be. They protruded slightly from the sockets, which made them seem even closer than they were. Breathing quickly, he gradually gained the mental strength needed to examine the horror in more detail.

The black centres of the eyes were clouded, as if they had been steamed from the inside and the white of the eyes rippled with veins. After the initial shock had subsided, Daimeh examined more closely its most striking features: two blunt tusks protruding from its chin. He frowned with curiosity before looking over the rest of its freakish face. The flesh between the nose and mouth was decayed: just two small holes were left, flat against a blanched, leathery face.

The jaw had been dislocated and the mouth laid wide open, exposing large teeth, obviously intended for grinding. Thick, bloodless lips sagged below the gum line and its tongue lay slumped to one side – inked by a touch of crimson.

Daimeh placed his palm on the coal-pigmented armour, lukewarm to the touch, facing the sand as it had. He noticed the faint outline of an embossed symbol, covered in sand. He wondered what it meant. Then he slowly bounced his palm on the chest piece. He was expecting it to squeeze against the body, but instead, found that it was solidly in place, as if something was under it. Daimeh removed his clam knife from his calf strap and began to tear at the bindings. They were tough, but he persisted, and eventually they broke. He tucked his hands under the plate and peeled it towards himself. It felt lighter than he expected. Dirty, damp garments were exposed, brownish in colour and stained with the ocean moisture. He noticed a shrouded oblong shape and tugged away the limp cloth covering it. A flare of sun caught his eyes, and he saw, bound to its torso, a sleek tablet, made from incredibly polished stone and with a flawless surface. Breaking the straps, he released the oblong stone. Daimeh lifted it up more forcefully than was necessary and noticed how light it was, like the chest-guard. How so, he thought, rubbing the perfectly curved edge and turning it over, continuing to run his hands over the glassy, satin finish. When he reached the centre of the stone, the pigmentation of deep obsidian dissolved, revealing a translucent surface shining with an inner light, as if it had been activated in some way.

Daimeh noticed a glowing, metallic, golden fluid, which was pulsing upwards from the centre of the stone and filling narrow etches to create writing. The glyphs looked exotic and mysterious to Daimeh and he could not make any sense of them.

He turned the stone over and gleams emerged from the other side. It was Alkoryn. His geographic knowledge was limited: he recognised the Alkoryn islands, but the lands further away were unknown to him. As he turned back to look at the strange symbols again, they intensified in colour, and at the same time he became conscious of a delicate woman's voice whispering in his head. He heard her say to him, "Share the script; hide the magic." He felt an uncontrollable urge to take the tablet with him.

He was unclear about what to do with the body and stood for a few moments deep in thought. "Maybe I should leave it here for someone else to find?" he muttered.

He knew that would be irresponsible, but he wanted to take the easy way out, rather than having to deal with this burden.

Standing up, he tucked the tablet under his belt, but its warmth against his belly was not pleasant on such a hot day. Pulling his light top over it, he prepared to head towards home. Just as he turned, he glanced at the sword and paused. He contemplated taking it, then decided he must. He dropped to his knees again and grabbed the black corded hilt. It was smooth and simply designed, yet was easy to grip. He was able to slide it from its sheath without any difficulty. He had expected it to be light, and it was. What is it he asked himself, some kind of knife? A lengthy, thin knife? No it was not quite a knife. But what? He had never wielded such a blade, and this one was clearly much too big for him. Daimeh held the sword at arm's length, surprised by his own agility. He began to swing it around as if fighting. The marbled, ebon surface, glinted in the sunlight.

Daimeh carefully ran his fingers along the contoured edge. It was clean and very sharp, and the outer edge was serrated. He looked at the sheath and decided he should also take it, for his own safety. Breaking the straps, he tore the sheath away from its belt and lowered the sword into it. It was thin enough that he could hide it under his clothing.

Daimeh suddenly felt waves splashing against his lower legs and realised it was time for him to head back. Before leaving, he paused again in contemplation, watching the tide rising over the body's knees. What he needed to do was suddenly clear to him. He knew he couldn't just leave it and decided to drag the body to the dunes, away from the water's edge. Hastily, he grabbed the discarded belt and strapped it around the carcass's wrists. Confident it would hold, Daimeh pulled the hefty arms up over the head and found himself a firm dragging position. He knew a challenge awaited him as the body was so sizably brawny.

Tensing his muscles, he began to haul it away from the incoming tide and towards the closest dunes, leaving deep trails in the sand as they went.

The sun had by now sunk lower in the tropical, azure sky. Alkoryn never fell into darkness, the sun never set and the land was eternally sunny. When Daimeh was finally almost at his destination, he stopped for a moment and sat down. His muscles were beginning to seize with cramp, and after all the events of the evening, he needed a bit of respite. Admiring the beauty of the tufted clouds high above, peacefully flowing across the horizon, he sensed that the air pressure had dropped. He knew it was late evening. The distinctive sound of the dyak cliff bats calling loudly to each other confirmed his suspicion. On any other evening, Daimeh would have enjoyed the salty, dry scent from the baked sand and crisp kelp, but that evening his lungs were still filled with sickness from the decomposing cadaver that lay behind him. He continued heaving the corpse along the beach.

He saw small sprouts of grass poking through the sand and he knew he was nearly there. Eventually he reached the dunes, and, exhausted, he dropped the belted body behind them. After he had relaxed his back and arms, he gathered a few pieces of dried foliage and scattered them over the body, making sure to cover its bulging eyes first.

Once it was completely hidden, he strolled back to Lybas thinking about the strange stone slab, wondering where it came from and how it got there? Who should he tell? He knew his mother should know, then the words "hide the magic" came to mind and he realised that no one should know about the tablet. He decided he would make a copy and show her that.

* * *

Daimeh arrived at the outskirts of Lybas as the sun was approaching its lowest point in the sky. The village of Lybas lay on Bayhaven, one of the eastern islands of Alkoryn, and was predominately a fishing colony, providing protein rich sustenance to the islands.

The earlier clouds had dissipated, leaving a warm, golden-orange hue. Daimeh approached the first Lybas bay-house, a humble home built on stilts; the sunlight bounced of each curved, vertical plank. He could see Bermel, a middle-aged fisherman, and his dusky silhouette. He was peacefully fishing from his exquisite balcony.

Bermel, looking completely tranquil, reeled in his line and glanced over to the returning young man. Taking his ivory pipe out of his mouth, he waved to Daimeh. "You're late today," he called, in a deep, husky voice. The smoke from his pipe rising in gentle wisps.

Daimeh ran his hand through his sweaty hair and nervously checked that his bounty was discretely hidden before replying, "Fete soon, Bermie. Just wanted to stay out a few more hours. Lost track of time though, but I did find the most beautiful shell." He smiled to himself, feeling guilty about not disclosing his other finds but knowing he must keep his secrets a while yet.

"Heh, you're a hard worker, it's good to see around here, just make sure you have time for yourself too."

Bermel sat back down in his sturdy, well-made chair, returned his pipe to his lips and cast his line back out to sea.

Before he disappeared behind the wooden wall, Daimeh shouted, "Not much time for that Bermie, but I'll try." He waved then continued past the chestnut house.

Daimeh calmly walked along the seafront, feeling his toes digging into the warm sand. He passed four more bay-houses, each with their own fishing boat, gracefully bobbing on the tide. Daimeh admired the small, colourful, potted plants on the balconies. They finished the look perfectly.

Once he reached Lybas, the stone path began. The souls of his feet brushed sand over the smooth, well-sculpted engravings; the sensation always gave him that relaxing feeling of being home.

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Excerpted from The Alkoryn Chronicles by C. J. Gleave. Copyright © 2014 C. J. Gleave. Excerpted by permission of John Hunt Publishing Ltd..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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