The Lost Voice

Chapter One-1-1

Chapter One Heartlessness

Caia Foriei gasped at the harrowing crack of an arrow splitting a tree branch near her head. She looked over her shoulder—it came closer than she would have liked. Since when were goblins that good of a shot? And on horseback!

“I believe you now!” Solin Rahngwa, Caia’s best friend and fiancé, called from his horse behind her. “The barrier is down!”

That was a first. Solin was not one to admit defeat so quickly, but after three minutes of being pursued, he’d given in.

“I’m glad we could come to an agreement!” she called in return while sliding one of her own arrows from the quiver at her side and nocking it onto her bow. “Get down!”

Solin leaned down onto his horse’s neck as Caia sent the arrow over his head to plunge into the jugular of one of the three pursuing goblins. A resounding shriek from the creature rang through the woods.

“If there are more, they will have heard—” Solin’s words turned to an abrupt ungh of pain.

“Solin!” Caia cried. She urged her horse to the left to leave more room for Solin’s horse to come beside her. “Solin, are you shot?”

Pain contorted his features. “Yes,” he winced, pointing over his shoulder to the arrow protruding from his back. “I’ve never been more shot in my life!”

Grabbing the arm of his tunic, Caia pulled him toward her to drag him onto her own horse.

“No, no!” he cried. “I can stay upright! I’m all right! By the Highest, just keep going!”

A bolt of white light suddenly shot past Caia on the right, followed by the death screeches of the second and third goblins behind them.

Stiff from his injury, Solin looked to Caia for an explanation of what was happening behind them. She had nothing to offer him but wide eyes and a slack jaw. With the threat of the goblins gone, Caia stopped the horses and surveyed the area. The shadows of the white birch forest were dense and deep beneath the late afternoon sun. Caia could not see the green, gnarled faces and hooked noses of the goblins, but their skill in camoflauge was renown. If they were hiding, the elves might not be able to see them. Though it was quiet, she felt eyes on her and Solin, but the sense of threat that followed the dark creatures was no longer present.

“Hello?” she called out, but the forest was quiet.

Solin groaned as he tried to turn for a look.

“Don’t move,” Caia scolded him. “Someone is out there. He’s watching us.”

“How do you know it’s a ‘he?’”

“I don’t know; I just do.”

The horses jumped in surprise when a man suddenly stood before them. Caia reached for an arrow, knowing the stranger was too close for a ranged weapon. She should have gone for Solin’s dagger. No matter—she could make do with anything sharp in hand.

“Lands be damned,” Solin swore in his surprise. “Where did you come from?”

“We should get that arrow out,” the stranger replied beneath the shadow of his hood. Even with the black leather mask covering his mouth, his voice was clear and smooth. His eyes, glowing an unnatural teal as if imbued with some kind of magic, caused Caia’s skin to rise like gooseflesh. She swallowed hard.

“Who are you?” Caia asked, eyeing the black jerkin he wore. One arm—his sword arm—was sleeved and gloved, while the other was bare up to his shoulder. “And why should we trust you?”

The man laughed and his hidden smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. A glowing blue symbol like branches of a tree appeared beside his left eye as if being drawn in that moment with an invisible pen, then disappeared just as quickly. Truth dawned on Caia, and she dismounted, mouth agape.

“You,” she started, having trouble finding her words. “You’re a Sapient.” Speaking the word seemed like a sin in and of itself. It was an ancient term, from the days of early creation.

The man bowed his head and walked to Solin’s side, where he offered his hand in help. A white tree was on the back of his jerkin, and swirling letters of old script marked the outer edges of his hands and pinky fingers, glowing the same teal color of his eyes. Caia couldn’t read the language, but she recognized it as the ancient scribblings marked throughout the books she studied since she was told of the bloodline—books often put aside for daydreaming and extra hours spent in the woods with Solin.

Solin took the man’s proffered hand and winced as he was helped from the horse. “Thank you,” he said to the man, then looked to Caia for clarification. “But...Sapient?”

She carefully gestured to the script on the man’s hand, unsure what was customary or polite when speaking about someone of such authority. “He wears the script and the tree of the Rehnedhen—the spirit world. No one carries those symbols without first crossing into the realm.”

“I am here to escort Caia to Sanctuary.” he said with a slight bow of his head.

Caia lowered her eyes to the ground but could feel Solin’s eyes on her back. Solin had always insisted that no one would come for her after so much time had passed. “No one can possibly know who you are,” he had said. “And it would take a lot of effort to hunt you down.”

But Caia knew better. She knew how the leader of the slit-eyed, gray-skinned sinstarians, Glim’Ruk, had tracked down her family long before killing the first Voice of Apan. She knew the only things holding them back from taking her were the living Voices that still held power—until now. If a Sapient was there, that could only mean all of the Voices were now dead, and the truth was laid bare for all of Jaydür to see—the ethereal barrier created by the elves to keep the descendants of the Voices safe was now gone, and the sinstarians sent in the goblins in swarms.

The Sapient slipped his finger into the ripped fabric where the arrow entered Solin’s back, above the shoulder blade. Solin writhed in pain as the man pulled some of the tender flesh to the side, studying the wound.

“Oh good,” he said. He took hold of the shaft and pulled the arrow right out of Solin, who howled in agony.

“Solin!” Caia cried. She looked up to the Sapient with wide eyes. “Was that necessary?” she asked.

The man eyed the tip of the arrow. “It’s hardly a sharpened stick. Clearly these goblins are not the ones worth our concern. But more are coming. Now stand still.” He dropped the arrow and placed his ungloved hand an inch or so away from the wound. A white glow radiated from the man’s palm, up his forearm beneath his gauntlet and to his elbow. The skin around the wound sizzled and smoked as the Sapient’s magic cauterized the site. Solin gasped and cried out as his flesh sealed shut, stopping the flow of blood.

“You will heal,” the man said. “As for you,” he turned back to Caia, “you have your weapon, your cloak, and your horse. You have need of nothing else.” The Sapient’s eyes trailed over Caia and an uncomfortable sensation came over her. It was difficult to tell if he was simply studying her or if there was more to his gaze. Until then, reading a person’s intentions through their eyes was not a complex thing for her to do. In fact, her ability to do so with acute accuracy was something she took pride in, so the inability to do so now was somewhat distressing for Caia.

“I suppose the Elder should know I am here.” The Sapient cut his gaze from Caia and looked at Solin. “Boy—you are tasked with letting your master, Dy’Mün, know I have the Voice with me. We will reconvene at his cottage.”

Solin eyed the man warily. “Dy’Mün is not our ‘master.’ He’s our professor.”

With a hand on Caia’s shoulder, the man gently urged her southward. “As far as you know. You be sure to pass on the message.” He passed Caia a sidelong glance as she opened and closed her mouth in shocked silence.

“Wait,” Solin interjected. “You really think you can just appear, ogle my fiancé, and snatch her away right from under my nose? How do we know you’re not the enemy?”

The Sapient stepped toward Solin. “If I were the enemy, you would have been dead before you even knew I was here.” He ripped off the mask, revealing a face of a much younger-looking man than expected. “I am Archai, guardian Sapient of the Voices. I’ve witnessed the rise and ruin of kings and kingdoms for ages. I was present for the birth of language. The very course of the moon and stars has grown dull in my time.” Solin’s eyes widened with recognition as he stepped back with every step Archai took forward. “You have no power here.”

“Solin, let’s just consider this all for a moment,” Caia started, torn between who she should stand with. Solin was her everything, but a Sapient came from the heavens with an authority no mortal could comprehend. Everyone knew Archai’s name from stories and history books. Clearly, though, history and authority did not matter to everyone.

Solin squared his shoulders and walked forward until he stood nose-to-nose with Archai. “I don’t give a damn who you claim to be. Until I have proof, Caia is under my protection as my future wife.”

“Not anymore, she isn’t.” Neither one noticed Archai’s hand on the hilt of his sword until he flung up the butt of it in a swift blow to Solin’s head, rendering him unconscious. He turned to Caia. “Now, we go.”

“Solin!” she cried, hurrying to Solin.

Archai stopped her with a hand around her arm. “That way,” he demanded, pointing a finger in the opposite direction, but Caia wouldn’t have it.

“No! Let me go! He’s hurt!”

In an instant, Archai’s arm was thick around her waist as he lifted her, tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat. Each of Archai’s long strides carried her farther away from Solin until she couldn’t see him anymore.

“He’ll be fine,” Archai explained in a much too casual tone as he walked steadily south. “Give him a moment. He’ll wake.”

“Put me down!” she demanded, pushing against his back to lift herself up. “Who do you think you are!”

“I told you. I am Archai, guardian Sapient of—”

“I demand you put me down!”

He laughed, clearly pleased with himself, as he dropped Caia to her feet. She immediately attempted to pass by him, but he blocked her and, with a frustrated breath, reassured her. “He’s fine. I swear it. But you must come with me.”

Catching Archai’s eyes, Caia searched him for some sign of danger or dishonesty. This time, she did not struggle to find what she looked for. The Sapient, to her satisfaction, was being truthful.

“Caia! Caia!” Solin’s desperate voice filled the air.

She wanted to cry out to him, to let him know she was all right, but Archai hushed her.

“He is not my charge to protect,” he said.

Caia’s heart was in her throat. Dy’Mün’s warnings rang in her memory along with the reality of the situation. This would not be the only separation from Solin. Caia knew what the arrival of a Sapient meant. Years were spent being taught the history of her bloodline, and the small fraction of a possibility that she would be called to give up her life for the life of a Voice, but Caia never believed it. And here she was, with goblins seeking her out to take her life. It wasn’t fair that Solin was in danger because of her. He took an arrow to the shoulder because of her. As much as it pained her to think of their current separation, Caia knew Solin would be safer if he returned to their village.

When she finally calmed, Archai asked, “Do you know where Nov’Eit is?”

Clearly the man knew where he was going when he first began carrying her away, but she played along. “Yes,” she replied, pointing south.

“Lead the way, and tell me what you already know of the Voices.”

With another glance back, Caia nodded. Solin would go searching for help—likely from Dy’Mün. He would be all right. He had to be. Regardless, her stomach soured at their separation.

“The bloodline began on my father’s side,” she began. “Some hundreds of years—”

“History is no longer important,” Archai cut in. “Tell me what you know of your fate.”

Caia looked up with a clouded gaze. He stood more than a head taller than her, his broad shoulders only adding to his size and intimidating presence.

“My fate?” she repeated, unsure exactly what he was asking. “My fate now that the Voices are gone? Or my fate if I fail my calling?”