Dreamer: The Eighth Key book 1

Cree

Cree

Even though they arrived in an abandoned town, it still felt lived in. Signs of the old ways remained everywhere they looked. It seemed as though one day, everything just stopped dead in its tracks. It was like the entire population left without packing up any personal belongings whatsoever. Old ropes still hung low around a dried-up well where washing was once done. Earthen pots, mostly intact, sat still sealed for later use. There were several self-irrigated gardens still in bloom though they were sorely overgrown. Beautiful murals, faded but still visible, depicted enduring scenes of sea birds and harvests along most of the walls of the exposed buildings.

Miryd ran from the shoreline and up a series of weathered steps towards what might have been a market square, naturally sheltered from the bulk of the storm by an old walkway that connected the upper streets to the wharf-yard. While she waited on the rest of them to catch up, she wrung out her hair. “Be careful, up there,” Tathlyn called.

Old stone benches lined the covered part of the wall here. It would make a decent enough place to camp. It was too dark to look for proper shelter in one of the buildings. Plus, who knew what could be in them? As they all started to set up a make-shift camp, Tathlyn had to keep a keen eye over the woman. Miryd seemed overly excited about doing some exploring, but it could wait until the storm died down. Suffice to say, none of them were thrilled about the thought of waking up to find the remains of some poor soul next to them.

                                                                                      *

Brilliant sunlight bathed the island in warmth as Diraimeir stirred the next morning. He was the last of them to rise. He could hear that his companions already up. When he sat up, he sought them out with his gaze.  Miryd and Thistale were deep in conversation, chattering away on what they thought could have happened to Cree’s once-abundant inhabitants. Tathlyn listened in but never said a word, though he tried not to chuckle a few times when the discussion verged into some of the more ridiculous ideas they came up with. For instance, Miryd suggested that maybe the people never left and became the trees instead. Such an idea made Diraimeir smile. He could see Sumrian standing over a fire not far from them, stirring a pot. It seemed he had gotten roped into cooking duties. Diraimeir assumed it was because he was the last to wake, aside from himself, and he was told to let the lad sleep.

Diraimeir rubbed his blurred eyes with the back of his hand as he stretched out his frame, rising to his feet. He shot a glance out into the harbor where the ship from the night prior could still be seen. Its predicament was somewhat visible from where they were, but that was no longer a concern of his. Instead, Diraimeir just shook his head and sighed softly. Spare me the stubbornness of seafarers.

“It’s about time,” Sumrian said from over Diraimeir’s shoulder as he handed him a bowl of mushy grey porridge. “It’s nothing special, but you should eat up. A man should not be so thin. Tathlyn cannot protect you for the rest of his life, you know.” He teased.

Diraimeir rose an eyebrow as he peered down at his meal, giving the food a skeptical look. Nothing unusual was an understatement. The porridge was soupy, and burnt, giving off a sour smell he could not place. Sumrian was an awful cook in every sense of the word. Diraimeir choked down the first bite, which was bland save for its way too salty-sweet after taste. He scrunched his nose up at it.

“Ugh! What IS this stuff?!” He groaned, pushing the bowl back at Sumrian as though it would give him a disease. He would rather eat more Twistroot seeds.

“Just eat it. I promise its edible. I used to eat this stuff all the time. If it was good enough for me then, it’s good enough for you now.” He said as he plopped the bowl back into the Illitar’s lap.

Diraimeir frowned but continued to try to stomach it, as they all did, without much more complaint. Thought Miryd was sure to tell Sumrian he was not allowed to cook anything else if he could not make something more edible then that slop.

After breakfast, the need to explore the port took over. Firstly, they needed to find a path that would allow them farther up into Cree. This task was not as easy as it would seem, either. The dense overgrowth from years of neglect pushed the woodlands over into buildings, reclaiming the land by swallowing it up in a slow crawl. The party split up into two groups: Diraimeir with Thistale and Miryd. And Tathlyn with Sumrian. While one assembly looked for things that could be salvaged or helpful, the others began the arduous task of cutting away vines and leaves over any possible openings that could have hidden a road.

Miryd lit one of the lanterns they brought with them as she took the lead in choosing the best and safest of the buildings to begin with. One by one, the smaller homes were picked through. Sadly, they found nothing of any real use or value. The overall theme from the night prior remained. Tables still sat untouched, set with homemade dishes as though ready for the next meal to come. Rusted pots still hung-over fire pits, filled with old ash and wood, reeking of decay. Old beds of rotted cloth, straw, and now weeds rested close to those pits. It would have made a great place to try to steal away some of the warmth a hearth offered on colder nights. The way things were left made Diraimeir uncomfortable. No signs of war or struggles are anywhere to be found, but this? This doesn’t make sense. It’s downright eerie.

In the end, it was by this process that they found the way up to Cree’s central highway. Sumrian and Tathlyn could have cut away the entire forest and still not have seen it, for it began in the back of the largest building Diraimeir and the girls searched through. Wow. This is an upper gatehouse by the looks of things. It was tall and welcoming, with a series of flat steps placed in increments of eight, which served as the entry to the highway. Each flight ended in a four-foot landing before another began, continuing to rise between ornate pillars of basalt. An arched opening at the top of these stairs encouraged daylight to flood down the walk.

A lot of effort went into clearing the way well enough for the horses to pass through unhindered. Some of the space was simply too narrow to coax them through it as it was. Rubble needed to be swept away as well to prevent tripping. The cleanup was a pain, but it was efficiently executed and took up a decent portion of the morning to complete. By the time the sun was directly overhead, Diraimeir was able to lead Ch’nuino and Saunun through the gatehouse, taking up the lead.

He found the main road was much easier to pick through the higher they went into Cree’s wilderness. It was not that big of an island, but it was tall. They could see much of the landscape below as the tree line did not rise too much above the roadway, which followed along a dried-up riverbed. The harbor they arrived in could be seen along with a handful of others of various sizes, circling the island. Similar “towns” rested on the edge of each. Diraimier assumed that other roads leading from these would offer the same sort of views. Maybe these hidden streets even met the one they were on at some point or another.

Finally, through the trees, Diraimeir noticed a series of dark stone walls a few hundred feet up. It was the Great Library, known throughout Sharn as The College. Cree had been a place of celebrated study in its hay day. The Library’s campus was a massive cathedral of works, and it was said to hold all the world’s secrets within its priceless collections. Scholars from all over the world once came here to study or debate. According to Haun Chet, some yet remain. That’s the hope, at least. If the port was any indication of what we are going to find, things are not looking good...

Maintained shrubbery started to become abundant, lining the road as high fences loomed over the edges of the lane and dispelled any fears of the entire island being deserted. Trimmed boxes of roses dotted the highway all the way up to the College’s barbican, where the portcullis remained permanently raised. The same deep grey basalt used to make the buildings in the harbor helped create this wonder of architecture. Before them lay an expansive green garden full of cultivated vegetables serving as its courtyard, supporting what little population remained.

In the garden’s center, a peculiar moving sculpture sat. Hand-worked bronze had been formed in the fashion of a golden eight-pointed star with a crescent moon taking up the bulk of its center. It was simple and beautiful in the way that forced onlookers to view it when they neared. Three rotating blue spherical planets spun around the star and moon in tandem, mimicking a carefully measured orbit.

So enthralled they were with the beautiful piece, they neglected to notice one of the scholars had come down from the center terrace overhead. As he neared, he cleared his throat, startling Diraimeir nearly out of his skin. “To what do we own this honor?” He asked with a complacent smile. He was tall but broad, with a frame more suited to physical labor rather than study. His voice was rough, like a rock upon a slick chalkboard, squeaking with mirth each time it hit a new syllable. The stranger seemed pale with his dark black hair, cut to rest just above his shoulders in a somewhat managed mess. Yet, the man wore Cree’s scholarly star-like robes like a badge of honor. This hulk of a man opened his arms wide in welcome. “We have not seen so many visitors in months.” He smiled an almost knowing smile before a large smooth hand moved to capture Diraimeir’s (who was the nearest to him) and shake it enthusiastically. Not to his surprise, Diraimeir found it challenging to stay up on his feet.

“Ah. I see you have questions that need to be answered!” The scholar chuckled richly as he steadied Diraimeir before he made him too dizzy to stand. “Nobody comes up here without a handful of them.”

Just as the nymph was about to explain himself, he was cut off. “Braeyta!” A sleek, golden-haired woman snapped as she stepped out from the same part of the College as the man had, arms folded across her chest in a huff. “The council is waiting for you to bring them. Let go of that poor boy and hurry it up!” She scolded him as she neared. She was much shorter and smaller than him, but she commanded so much more authority. He pouted childishly and let go.

“But, Eivni…”

“Don’t you ‘But Eivni’ me. Wipe that pitiable look off your face. You were told to fetch them, not to try and rip the Dreamer’s arm off.” She hooked him by the ear. “I am sorry about him.” She told the five of them. “This one here doesn’t know his own strength, nor does he understand he can’t be so brash.  We are of the Council of the Stars, the oldest and last remaining scholars of Cree. Do not fear. Your coming was seen from down the mountain just as it was foreseen long ago. Even so, I am obligated to ask why you are here.” She said with an annoyed sigh. The annoyance was not directed toward Diraimeir or the others, but to Braeyta.

“I see,” Miryd said, pushing her way forward since the others were pretty much in shock. “Two of us were sent here from Cidraedell and the rest of us to aid in the saving of a life.” She said. “I trust the tales of the knowledge held within the Great Library should be enough to solve everything we seek. With your permission and help, of course. We have, indeed, come to seek guidance.”

“Sent here?” Eivni smiled sweetly. “By whom?”

“My Haun.” Diraimeir pipped up. “He said it was important and that you will be able to guide me farther. I… I had a vision. Is that why you called me a Dreamer?”

Eivni leaned forward to get a better look at the boy. “Oh, my goddess. I thought you knew what you are already… How rare it is to find a Dreamer, but to find one that has not been influenced?” Her entire demeanor changed into the same sort of excitement that Braeyta had. “And the life that needs attention is?” She questioned before her eyes fell upon Thistale with a gasp. “This IS serious. Let’s see what can be done, shall we?”

“Eivni… My ear…”

“Hush.” She scolded Braeyta again. “This way, if you would. I think it is best to make use of the entire Council.” She decided, turning with that ear still firmly in her grasp.

Up the wide, well-kept steps and into the church-like building they went. The windows were all floor to ceiling, stained into the likeness of a vast galaxy and surrounded in dark gold-colored drapes. They couldn’t be seen from the outside at all. Enough light came through them to project the starscape upon the floor’s center, comprised of a luxurious royal blue carpet. The chamber was as vast as a chasm, lit with hanging golden spheres that cast a soft light over the main focal points below. Books sat in towering stacks near the walls and on tables, but it was no library. Not at all. It was a giant study.

 Across the length of the back wall stretched a long banquet table, with enough room left at its sides and back that one could move around it or sit. Two other scholars lingered there, looming over an intricate scrying stone. The sisters, Icutaor and Icuyo, were locked in a heated debate. Both paused at the sound of the company, lifting their heads to take in their guests at the same moment with heterochromatic eyes of blue and hazel, and the women fell silent. Leith and genderless seeming, yet they dripped of feminism. Each of them were members of the Xii from Xune’s plains, made plain by raven hair and creamy umber skin. They had full lips and fair circle-shaped faces with eyes that slanted down elegantly at each corner. All and all, Diraimeir thought they had a pleasant air about them.

Braeyta and Eivni took seats on either side of the twins. This, and this alone made up the last remaining members of the Council of Stars. Sadly, the faction had dwindled ever since Gya’a left the living world. With it, the wish to pursue lost knowledge and the need to preserve it faded away into today’s daily toil with little hopes of recovering its obligation. Once, they were the Goddess’s right and left hands. A vigilante group that did her works and passed her judgment in high numbers. No more. This world no longer cared to hold one another accountable.

Eivni stood after her comrades were settled and spoke, much softer now even though her voice echoed. “Dreamer, please present all that you have seen so that we might guide you.” She bid, motioning for Diraimeir to come and sit before them. “Your friends are welcome to stay and listen if they wish it.”

Diraimeir had no desire to sit, as nervous as he was with all eyes pointed in his direction. He stepped forward and rested a palm on the offered chair to be respectful, beginning just how he was. “I dreamt of a vast forest where I wandered without care. I was me, but I was not me. My body and all my feelings wouldn’t listen to me as I moved through the thickness of the woods. Never have I seen such a place in all my life, yet I feel like I have always known it. Soon, I found a deep mystical well where all the sounds of life left me. Looking into it, I saw an unknown person staring back where my own reflection should have been. And I fell into the well, and I thought I was doomed to drown.

I could breathe in the water, but I couldn’t move in it. My body sunk deeper into a darkness that was trying to suffocate me till I was suddenly freed of it.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Tathlyn, who already had a worrisome look about him.

“When I was able to gain my bearings, I found I was in a ruined underground city where shadows lurked with life. They made no noise and did nothing to acknowledge me when I passed. My feet kept me on a path I could not vary from, but I didn’t want to go on. I was quite terrified.

I found myself coming to this enormous citadel. I went in and wandered a while before and found my way up to this fancy bedchamber. There was a body in there, but you know… I cannot say if whoever it belonged to was dead or alive, only that they remain there still. And it was frightening.” He tried to sum up everything quickly without missing the significant bits. Diraimeir let his sight move over towards the Council. For a long time, everyone was quiet.

“You found a temple under the ground? Do you remember if there was anything special about the landscape before the well?” One of the sisters asked thoughtfully.

“Um, No… But I think I would know the actual well if I ever saw it again, I think.”

“And this face, what did it look like?” The other sister asked.

“Like mine, but the eyes and the skin and hair were different. If I were an elf, I think that is what I might have looked like. Or maybe if my friend and I were the same person. I have seen her face in my dreams a couple of times before we ever met.”

“She is with you?” They both asked together, tilting their heads towards each other. “Bring her forward. Let us have a look at you both side by side. As a whole.”

The Illitar twisted around to fetch Thistale, hooking his arm with hers as he brought her closer. The following silence was unbearable. Diraimeir tightened his hold on Thistale and swallowed before glancing at her.

“There is more. I have dreamed a handful of times of him too.” Thistale managed to mutter. “Not long dreams, but I think his spirit might have been calling out to me. Even more so when he grew nearer. I recognized him from the most vivid dream I’ve ever had.” Diraimeir was the figure in the dark meadow.

The next to speak was Braeyta. “You are already aware now of what you both are. Your dream was no simple dream, my boy. With its coming, things have been set into motion by your hand that can no longer be stopped.” He said. Any playfulness in his voice was gone as his eyes fixated on the stone. Certainty and wisdom took over his mannerisms. “It will be a hard road for you both to endure, but in the end, you must do as She wishes, and you must not falter. You will need strength and courage if you are to save this world.”

“Why? What are we expected to do?” Thistale asked; clearly, she didn’t like the sound of that.

“You must travel deep within Shar, the birthplace of the Goddess. It rests in a valley high in the Austierian mountains. There, you will follow the path set before you in the vision. I can tell you no more than that. Also, you will find the cure for that sickness as well.” He added for Thistale. “Find the well. Find Gya’a.”

Eivni took a breath before she added to the instructions. “Be wary of the one that chases you. Like a great huntress, she plays with more than just one pawn. She follows ever near. Even now, the witch knows where you are, and she has already sought out the harbor from whence you came. It’s unwise to linger within these walls long. Cree cannot protect you from her, but we can stall the Sorceress and provide a head start.”

Tathlyn stepped forward, drawing his sword. “She is on the island?”

“No, not yet. But she will be by nightfall. Go now and take rest, for you will need it. After a meal and some sleep, Braeyta will lead you all under the Library and out to the sea. Follow the reef and make port after it ends. That would be Austieria. To the east, you will find Mayehill. To the West, forested mudflats. Go through these, but be careful. Straying too far West, and you will find yourselves at the doors of Rhune, the dark city. When the forest clears, take to the river. Avoid the pass through Tenar if you can help it, though. Instead, brave the Drannorian desert and follow the northern ridgeway the best you can into Shar. The woman that follows you has agents there already, but they can be avoided by keeping away from the cities.”

All of the council members stood up in unison. “May her star keep you and your steps.”

 Eivni flashed Diraimeir a smile as she ushered the sisters off to make something for them all to eat. “Come this way.” She bid once more, motioning to a door on the side of the room. This door led to a much smaller room that had several bedrolls set up on the floor. It wasn’t much, but it was better than he expected. “Rest here. I will come to call when supper is ready for you.”

Nobody was particularly tired but, by the sound of things, they should all try to snag as much sleep as they could. Time was fleeting, after all. “After we eat, we should go,” Tathlyn muttered.

“I agree,” Braeyta chimed in, leaning on the doorway. “We shall make it so. I believe the witch will be here sooner rather than later. Even now, my sisters are preparing the Library for her coming. I was able to see lights on the water down below. A small fleet of ships approaches from the north, flying the Bardridian banner. We will have to rush through our meal if we want a good head start.”

A tidy offering of steamed root vegetables piled over herb-crusted chicken made an excellent meal along with a fluffy looking bread. It was easy to eat and light enough not to bother one’s stomach too much for departure.  A light conversation rose between all in attendance. Nothing too serious considering the next few hours could mean the life or death of everyone within the College. Everything was devoured with haste before the party thanked their hosts—time to go.

 With that, Braeyta ushered them towards a small passage in the back of the room, tucking the scrying stone into a pocket in his robes. The sisters and Eivni already gathered anything and everything they could find to barricade the front entrance to the Library. Chairs. Small tables and the books that were on them. Even a few of the book cabinets. It didn’t matter if the door was locked into place or not. The need to stop the woman pursuing Diraimeir and Thistle called for more drastic measures than a mere plank of wood pushed down into its proper slats. When the dreamer and his friends departed, the very seats and table they had just been using were added to the pile.

Braeyta’s way would be difficult enough to find on one’s own. In that way, the tunnels under the Library made for an excellent escape route. Braeyta zig-zagged them from one corridor to the next. They went up two flights of steps only to take an immediate left and take another stairwell that spiraled down from one of the back towers. Then they crossed over another dark chasm of a room, the actual library itself, from an arched bridge that branched out in each direction in the middle of the ceiling. All of this led them to another set of steps and into an old classroom.

Braeyta skirted the side of a bookcase, pulling on a series of different tomes. With a soft click, a panel on the bottom of the fireplace opened to a thin corridor beyond it. By pulling a small lever on the other side after everyone stepped through, the books reset, and the passage sealed. Now all were within the gloom inside the Library’s walls.

There was no light to be had in that narrow corridor. The scholar had everyone move as slowly as they possibly could down the hall, single file. Braeyta also encouraged his charges to stay silent as he whispered instructions. “Find the rope on the wall and do not lose sight of it. Take soft, slow steps until we clear these old servants’ passages. Noise can often carry in here, and we don’t want to give ourselves away.” He mumbled.

Built into very walls themselves, the passages were dark now, but they had been in full use not too long ago. Small fixtures used to burn overhead but had since burned out and never been replenished since.  And even then, they only offered just enough to pick the way on through.

These halls had never been that easy to navigate. Braeyta knew firsthand how they wound in and under the entirety of Cree. That old raggedy rope had been hung by himself when he was just a boy as a way to learn how to get to the outside should he become lost.

Each step that they took heightened the overlying sense of urgency to make a break for it. Perhaps the impenetrable gloom made them all feel like the island’s destruction loomed way too close for comfort. The r****e of footsteps they created, despite being light-footed, still seemed for too loud to them because of it.

They followed the current wall to its end, where thankfully, it widened when they turned and headed downward, not by way of stairs but by a gentle but noticeable slope in the floor. Before anyone was any the wiser, the smoothness of the floor developed into uneven waves of rock. No longer were they in the walls of the picturesque building but in a cavern underneath Cree.