The Rainbows of Erkassi

By Tambry

Alone among a vanishing race, an orphaned child has been given a task that will affect not only the survival of her people, but her entire world, as well.

“Deliver the Globe of Ashkelon to the Langtrussi” sounded simple enough, but it became far more complicated when an entire world’s armies were assigned a single job.

“Destroy the child!”

If the armies succeeded in destroying the child, they would survive. If the armies failed, they would be sacrificed to appease the anger of Matharia, the ruler of their twilight-shrouded world.

From Princess to Prey, Pietra’s flight across her worlds would draw the interest of the gods of Eleazor, the wrath of the Wolf Master, and loyalties she could never imagine.

All to take a squishy little leather-bound ball to a group of people she had never met and had heard of only in legend; a task that sounded so simple, but a task that would impact worlds beyond her imagination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tambry
• Release date: Jan 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9780988913813

Book preview

The Rainbows of Erkassi

as recorded by Tambry

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Statement

© 2013 by Tambry

This eBook is a work of fiction, and all rights to its contents are retained by the author. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Name, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

A Word from Tambry…

This book, developed from a challenge to encourage someone else to develop a story dear to her heart, became the seed of an idea to create a collection of stories based around the inhabitants of worlds, separated from our own by space and time, that, without our knowledge, impact us in our daily lives.

If time and interest permit, there will be a collection of stories, developed around the characters you will soon meet.

I hope you enjoy The Rainbows of Erkassi as much as I have enjoyed living in their world these past few years.

Tambry

Thank you to each of you who have given your time to read through early drafts of Rainbows. Your comments, encouraging or simply politically correct, have helped make this story what it is today.

Cover Design

The cover design for the eBook edition of The Rainbows of Erkassi was prepared by Cal Sharp, the Creative Director for Caligraphics.

If you ever have need for a talented graphics design professional, contact Cal. He is an absolute pleasure to work with, and highly skilled at his trade.

You can contact Cal at http://www.caligraphics.net/

Table of Contents

A Word from Tambry…

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

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10

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Epilogue

About the Author: Tambry

Prologue

Humans have so many strange ideas. Time, for one. They measure their lifetimes in years, a concept totally foreign to the gods of Eleazor.

And most of them tended to think 3-dimensionally. Oh, it was true that there were some who seemed to grasp the concept of 4 dimensions. There was even an occasional human who could seem to see beyond their cloud of ignorance, glimpsing the existence of worlds and dimensions unknown…and un-numbered. But those humans were few and far between, and their published diaries did little more than amuse and entertain the vast throngs of those unwilling to accept the existence of creatures and worlds beyond their own experiences. True, they paid vast sums of money to slip temporarily out of their mundane lives and view the worlds of fantasy where all creatures were patterned after their own image. But while briefly entertained, they never bothered to question the source of the thoughts and images that were projected for their entertainment. They simply slipped back into their own lives and focused on the next problem they would face, not realizing that hatreds that had been developing since time began were threatening to spill over into their own world of comfort and sensibility, forever destroying life as they knew it.

That was the responsibility of the gods of Eleazor. They were the ones who bore the burden of seeing that the conflicts of hatred did not spill from one dimension to the next, destroying countless worlds and creatures in the process.

But though powerful, the gods of Eleazor were not omnipotent. They were only a few of the gods governing the worlds as they knew them, and, as such, their limitations were severe. They had only a few agents they could use through the millennia, and they were now down to the weakest of them all.

With grave concerns, the gods of Eleazor had destined Pietra, a young, female Marquissi to be the salvation, or destruction, of human life, guiding her to a path that would, hopefully, end at The Rainbows of Erkassi. For even the gods of Eleazor could not affect the outcome of Pietra’s journey. Only the goddess Eritien could see where Pietra’s journey would take her, see whether she could, and ultimately would, save the humans. But Eritien was mute, and could tell no one of what she saw. And when the gods of Eleazor gazed into her eyes, they only saw great sadness. But they had no choice. Pietra was the chosen one, and now life, as the humans knew it, rested on the shoulders of a frail Marquissi. And whatever allies she could enlist on her journey.

1

The voices were fewer, now. Fewer, and farther away. And the older voices could no longer be heard.

Pietra was only in her 471st moon, but even in her short lifespan, she could notice the difference. Where once there had been an excited babble of voices, there was now more silence than sound. Fewer in number, the voices were more distinct now, and she missed each one of them as they individually fell silent. She often wondered, Could they hear her, as she heard them? 471 moons, and she had never seen another of her kind, except for her parents. And they had died 141 moons ago.

Pietra was a Marquissi. Her parents had made sure she knew that, and seemed to impart some special importance to that fact. But even today, Pietra was not sure what a Marquissi was.

When she looked into the Reflecting Pools of Xenobia, what she saw was a very small, frail little creature with ears that seemed too big for her head. Never more than 3 rods tall, her parents had lovingly called her their Diminutive Princess, but now, crippled by the attacks that had killed her parents, she barely grazed the top of the 2nd rod standing on her toes, her back permanently bowed. Her legs were as thin as willow twigs, with great knobby knees that seemed designed more for scuttling than for walking. After 141 moons, her feet were still swollen and painful from the ravages of the attack, often requiring the use of a walking stick, as she hobbled down the trail to the Reflecting Pools. For it was in those pools that she hoped to learn who, and what, she was.

Her hair was raven black, sparkling with the brilliant reds and oranges of the 1st sun, falling to the middle of her back in cascading waves of soft down. But it was her eyes that always drew her attention during the pool’s revelations. Her sparkling green eyes were almost hypnotic in their intensity; liquid pools of emerald depths that were wide-eyed with wonder, and filled with curiosity.

The shimmering image that stared back at her from the depths of the pool always gave a quick, frightened smile and a wink, before disappearing into the deepening ripples, allowing her only the briefest glimpse of the young female she had become, without offering any of the answers she so desperately needed.

Did the other Marquissi look like her? She couldn’t tell by their voices. And she couldn’t remember her parents clearly enough to quell her nagging questions.

She had lived here in Xenobia ever since her parents had died trying to bring her to this strange land. What was she supposed to find that was so important that her parents had sacrificed their lives to bring her here? What could be worth the cost of losing her only family? At 471 moons, she had lots of questions, but few answers.

Nor could she ask her questions of the voices.

Although she could hear them, and knew they were Marquissi, like her, she could not communicate with them, no matter how often, or how hard, she tried. And she had tried. At first, to cry out in pain as she grieved over the deaths of her parents, but later just to have some of her own kind to talk with.

Sometimes, Pietra wondered if the voices were really there at all. Was she hearing echoes of the past, glimmers of the future, or Marquissi living in other lands? Sometimes time and reality in Xenobia seemed to spin into a whirlwind of flashing color and light; past, present, and future melting into a bright, neon now. Without her parents to guide her, Pietra often felt trapped in a reality that didn’t really exist. And, although Xenobia had been kind to her (how was that possible…a land being kind?), a land could never replace a people. And she hungered for some form of contact other than the disembodied Marquissi voices that swam in and out of her consciousness.

2

Xenobia was a strange land, unlike any other that she had known.

Another strange thought. Try as she might, Pietra could not recall actually living in a home of her own, constantly following her parents from village to village, always living among strangers. But she knew that Xenobia was unlike anyplace else she had ever lived. And sometimes those little pieces of intuitive knowledge frightened and confused her. After all, how could she know something of a certainty without ever having seen it, heard of it, or experienced it? But know it, she did. As certain in the knowledge as if it were one of the Truths of Eleazor, one of the foundation stones of the gods.

Bathed in the soft radiance of the 2nd sun, and the luminous iridescence of the 3rd moon, Xenobia was a lush land of towering trees, gentle rains, warm winds, and a cacophony of flowers that defied description in their abundance and beauty. Even the waters that chuckled through the streambeds seemed to share a joy of being in this land of soft light and incomparable beauty.

And this land had been kind to her, strange as that sounded. Since the day of her arrival, she had never had a home. As she wandered the length and breadth of the land, she had but to think of her needs and they were mysteriously cared for. If she thought she was tired, she would turn a corner of the trail she was traveling to see a living lean-to of inter-woven willows, the floor covered in a soft, deep moss that seemed to beckon her to lie and rest. If she thought she was cold, she would turn the corner and there would be a small fire awaiting her arrival, its cheerful flames crackling a welcome, lifting the scented smoke skyward. If she thought she was hungry, the next bend of the trail would reveal a hidden garden, bursting with the fruits and grains of Xenobia. If she thought she was dirty and in need of a bath, she would round the bend to discover a secluded waterfall decorated with scented, floating hydrangeas, a warm mineral pool, and a soapstone rock beside the pool, perfect for scrubbing her shift. If she was hobbled by pain from her damaged feet, she would turn the corner and discover a sturdy limb of Arcayssian Oak lying across her path. It was always just the right size, shape, weight, and balance to serve as the perfect walking stick; perfect right down to the fork in the limb that was always at just the right height to cradle her shoulder as she leaned upon it.

This land had been kind to her. Xenobia had provided all her needs…except one. Companionship.

After all these moons of exploring Xenobia, Pietra still did not understand how these things could be. She had grown to accept them, even anticipate them…but she did not understand them. And that frustrated her.

Once, after departing, she had looked back over her path, but the lean-to and campfire were gone. Vanished, as if they had never existed. Who was it that looked after her needs so diligently, seeming to anticipate those needs before Pietra herself was aware of them? Who built the lean-tos, and started the fires? Who planted and tended the gardens (for they had been cultivated)? And why was she a wanderer, a Partaker, and not a Sharer in the labors of this land?

It was not in Pietra’s nature to shirk her duty, but after 141 moons in Xenobia, she still did not know what her duty was, or why she was here. She had always known that she was free to leave whenever she chose, but Pietra was not one to give up and slink away. She understood that she was here for a reason…even if she did not understand that reason. And she would not leave until she did. She was just that type of Marquissi. Her parents had sacrificed their lives to bring her here, and she would stay in Xenobia until she knew what the gods had in mind.

Where did THAT thought come from? Why should the gods care about one small, frail Marquissi? But somehow she knew that she was awaiting their will. And their direction.

Not that she was waiting very patiently.

For this entire land was very strange. Outside of the flora, and the elemental forces of nature that surrounded her, she had never seen another living creature in Xenobia. Not even a flutterby, those gossamer-winged creatures she remembered from the Outside World that brought occasional light and beauty to an otherwise drab existence.

Never another living creature. Except Morgdahl. And he, only occasionally.

3

Morgdahl!

Who was he? What was he?

Even as an infant at her mother’s breast, Pietra had been taught to fear and respect that name. He was said to be all-powerful, but surely that was not true. Even the gods of Eleazor were not ALL-powerful. Even they needed the help of their agents.

Was that who Morgdahl was? An agent of the gods? No one knew for sure. And none dared ask him. He was Morgdahl! Nothing more need be said.

And there were some of the Marquissi who disagreed with such a subservient notion. Morgdahl, they whispered, was a god himself, perhaps THE god. But none dared say that aloud. For Morgdahl was always displeased with idle speculation, and nowhere in the clans of the Marquissi could there be found