The Twelve Realms: The Twelve Realms, #1

By A.D. Sloane

Nabii, a young Moorish royal, endures harrowing nights of chilling visions. When an eccentric priest and a mysterious shaman pursue an end to her horrors, they unveil a series of cryptic messages and discover her dreams are linked to an ages-old mystical prophecy with global implications.

 

The Twelve Realms is a historical reimagining that links kings and paupers, priests and soldiers, and shaman and witches in an epic adventure. Nabii is the key within a tapestry of intertwined people from Western Africa to the Far East and the British Isles who must join forces and find a weapon that will defeat the shadows prophesized to rise from the deep.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leedan Publishing LLC
• Release date: Nov 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9780999182833

A.D. Sloane

A.D. Sloane spent her childhood skating and biking in the summer with winters dedicated to reading, writing, and conjuring adventures in her mind. After graduating from the University of Illinois-Chicago and DePaul University, she enjoyed a career as a development officer for nonprofits and universities where she focused on K-14 Outreach and Academic Enrichment Programs and Diversity Initiatives. She currently lives near Chicago, Illinois with her husband and two children. She currently lives near Chicago, Illinois with her husband and two children. The Twelve Realms is her debut novel. You can find her online at www.adsloane.com or Instagram @adsloane11.  

Book preview

Prologue

THE AWAKENING

Realm II

Kingdom of Tunjar

West Alkebulan

422 A.D.

Kingdom of Tayan_locatormap

In the mysterious tongue of my homeland

Three words spoken, so pure, so sublime.

Continuous whispers haunt me night after night

Ni wakati wa. It is time. It is time. It is time.

The scent of smoke wrenched Nabii from a deep slumber, stirring her dark brown eyes to open with a start. She propped her body upright, rousing two books balanced on her protruding belly. They slid upon a mass of others and scattered across the ground beside her bed.

Terror unfurled in her chest as she cast a long look around the tent, which reflected the blaze outside its thin walls.

She crouched to the floor, her large belly combing the ground as she crawled toward a small opening at the bottom of her tent’s southeast wall. A waft of smoke entered from underneath. The rancid stench of blood and charred flesh assailed her like a punch, traveling down her throat and burning her lungs. She peered through and choked a gasp. Pandemonium stormed throughout the campsite: a melee of searing fires, pained cries, and clashing steel.

Tears clouded her vision as she wrapped her arms around her midsection. She was never without protection. But the mlezi, long considered the world’s most elite guardians, were nowhere in sight.

Nabii crawled toward her bronzed trunk, drawing in deep, controlled breaths. Breathe, Nabii. Breathe… Panic could not block her ability to make her next move.

Trembling, she opened the lid and peered inside. The scrolls and red velvet pouch lay within its corner, safe from the marauders’ hands. She choked out a cry of relief.

The scrolls and orb were still there.

She shoved the scrolls into her leather satchel, tied the pouch around her waist and crawled to the front entryway. She peeked outside to see her most loyal guardians, Kofi and Assan, sprawled in front of the tent’s entryway surrounded by a pool of blood. Several dark-skinned foreign men — bare but for their indigo skirts and white markings on their arms — lay slain throughout the clearing of the jungle.

No, no, no. Her Mlezi Guard and Iberian Guardians had fought to their deaths as she lay asleep. Her stomach heaved, overwhelmed by guilt. How could she sleep so deeply amid such chaos?

Kofi coughed and released a strained, gurgled moan as he struggled to lift his head.

Nabii crawled toward him and eased his head in her arms. Her tears blanketed him as she stroked his face, silently cursing the blood-red moon that watched the gruesome scene below. Sweet Kofi.

Princess, he murmured as the fluid in his lungs suffocated his words. The scrolls...

I have them, she said breathlessly. They’re with me now.

Kofi’s expression relaxed as he gazed at her with pride. Bleda? Bohdan?

She prayed that Bleda and Bohdan, her key protectors, were alive, but she had to get safely to the ship and could not think of that now.

Kofi released a forced cough, blood spraying past his lips, before mustering the strength to utter his final word: Run.

†

She stumbled across the jungle until her legs, burdened with two additional souls, grew too heavy to carry her any farther. She entered a campsite flattened by fire — its only evidence of life buried underneath a shallow haze of ash and smoke.

Nabii fell to her knees and scanned the clearing. More death, more fire. This was not the doing of random, desperate marauders seeking jewels and gold. These men were mercenaries with death in their sights, and they were skilled, precise and ruthless.

Her body began giving way, but now was not the time. Breathe, Nabii. Breathe. She gripped the trunk of a palm tree and hoisted herself up when she felt it — a warm sensation ran along her legs to the ground. Her water had broken. No, no, no… She slid her hand underneath her belly and cradled it with her palm. Her babies would safely make it to the ship. No harm will come to you — not now. Not like this.

Princess Nabii Akachi.

The man behind the voice appeared from the darkness of the trees. The light of his torch revealed distorted features and a flash of hatred within his deep-set ebony eyes. She had barely lifted her gaze when the man strode toward her, grabbed her by the hair, and pulled her to the ground.

The chief marauder narrowed his eyes. The prodigy, he said in an Igbo dialect. Several men emerged from the foliage and gathered close. The child scholar.

At nineteen, Nabii was no longer a child, but a young woman with the weight of the world nestled in her belly. She breathed deep, gathering in the thick damp air, and in a gesture of humility, crouched to her knees, her swollen belly straining her back as she struggled to right herself.

Her heart rammed against her chest as she lifted her eyes and faced her assailant. Please, she murmured, "the human race is in danger. Do what you will with me after they are born — but my children must live."

The marauder snatched a large tuft of her long, spiraled hair and jerked back her head before thrusting the flat of his dagger near her throat.

I beg you, she croaked, hot tears brimming her eyes. "My children are the key to unlocking a lost message. If they die, my people, your people — everyone — are as good as dead."

The mercenaries fell silent, exchanging questioning glances among themselves as their unsettled hush overtook the clearing. Waiting for a merciful sign, she swallowed in the thick air, a carnal blend of humidity and the ash remains of her men.

A low chuckle cut through the silence, prompting an explosion of laughter. The men howled as they slapped their sides and doubled down in hysterics.

You see? called out their chief, using his free hand to wipe the tears from his eyes. "She’s a lying witch and arrogant!"

The mercenary’s mood shifted. He narrowed his eyes at Nabii and leaned in close. I’ve had enough of your entertainment, he muttered. Now lower your head.

Nabii clasped his arm with her trembling hand. Please, she pleaded. I can pay you. My grandfather is a powerful man. If you spare me, he will make you rich beyond imagination.

The marauder yanked his arm from her grasp, evil flashing behind his eyes. "Look at me."

Nabii shrunk back as the light of the torch revealed a long, contorted scar skirting his cheekbone.

His face hardened. The fire in his eyes dimmed to black as he caught sight of her recoiling. You don’t even know who I am.

Nabii’s gaze flickered beyond the light of the torches. Any moment, Bohdan and Bleda would emerge from the jungle’s blackness and reveal themselves. Any moment… any moment. But the moments lingered, stretching long and thin before time revealed her truth. She blinked.

It’s just me.

Rage coursed through her. She jerked upright, reached for his face, and gouged her nails into his flesh as he struggled to fight her off. If she was going to die, she was taking him with her. Two men joined him in the struggle before he managed to shove his hand against her face and bear down until her head was level with the ground.

When her assailant pressed his knee against her stomach and jabbed her babies, a newfound fury boiled from within. She shifted her head and sunk her teeth into his hand.

He cried out, struggling to wrench free, but she clamped harder, rage fueling her determination. He reached over his shoulder and removed an oversized machete from its holster as the men pounded their spears against the dirt floor, taunting and leering with cruel roars of triumph.

Tears blurred Nabii’s eyes. Her babies had chosen her — entrusted her — to bring them safe and whole into the world.

And she had failed.

Two men flanked the mercenary as he lifted his machete and braced for a sharp downstroke. His weapon was above his head before the roaring cheers of his men devolved into a collective gasp.

Nabii blinked before the marauder sunk to the ground with a spear through his back. Descending from the darkness, Diran burst through a thin curtain of smoke. A storm of mlezi trainees followed. Diran, positioned at the lead, thundered across the clearing with fire in his eyes as a volley of arrows rained hell on Nabii’s enemy.

Diran turned to her, his eyes — one deep brown, one sky blue — both steeled with determination. Nabii’s heart flooded with gratitude as the young trainee strode toward her and helped her to her feet.

Diran and his comrades — all mlezi trainees who were no more than eighteen — surrounded her. He squeezed her hand and murmured, You’re safe now. You and your babies will make it to the ship… we promise.

The babies shifted downward, hardening fast upon Nabii’s pelvis. She leaned against Diran and placed her knapsack in his hand. P-promise me, she stammered, bearing contractions through gritted teeth, that the scrolls will make it to Karacen.

You have my word.

Through the thick of the brush, flickers of light from the incoming torches drew closer. The initiates fell into formation, their spears aimed forward and their swords unsheathed as they awaited their enemy.

Diran summoned two of his comrades. Grab two men and carry the princess to Iboro port.

His comrades obeyed, carrying Nabii into the brush, and disappearing into the darkness of night.

Diran turned to face his fellow initiates and drew in a deep breath. We’ve trained in scorching heat, watched comrades die, and endured pain beyond any reach of our imaginations.

The initiates nodded, their eyes widened, yet their expressions stoic.

All that we’ve been through was for this moment. Tonight, prove your worth.

Diran began chanting the mlezi credo. The initiates joined him, their voices cresting like thunder with every word.

We uphold light in a world filled with darkness

We never tire, protected in the glory of night

We uphold knowledge, for it is our truth

We protect the truth, for it is our light.

A thin glaze rimmed his eyes. Against death, we will be victorious.

With their weapons at the ready, the initiates formed a wall — a tapestry of spears, swords, and bows. With long strides and the hope of conquest, they marched forward in rhythm, leaving behind the fallen and the remains of chaos.

Diran stepped over Nabii’s slain assailant, moving forward with little thought of whether the man was alive or conscious. His step, seemingly small and meaningless, had done far more than slow his gait and rhythm. He had roused the wrong villain. He had roused evil incarnate into a newfound determination. He had roused a fiend, unnatural and disfigured by burns from the boils of the deep.

Evil. Evil. Evil … marked by the misshapen scar of a Sarmatian blade and emboldened by rage —

Awake.

Part One: 411 A.D. – 412 A.D.

Chapter 1

THE MOORISH KING

Realm X

Kingdom of Karacen, Iberia

411 A.D.

Iberia_locatormap

Eleven Years Earlier…

Priscillian of Ávila?

The voice came from a guardian, his blue eyes flitting from Priscillian’s long robe to his entourage of servants.

That would be me, said Priscillian, with a grin and a bow.

The guardian, seemingly unimpressed, reeled around and called over his shoulder, Follow me.

Priscillian, trailed by his entourage, snaked through the fish market. The thick maze of displayed spices, nuts, local fish, and fruits formed an exotic fusion of aromas and sounds that hammered his senses. Taken aback, he paused, pressing the pads of his fingertips against his temple.

Bishop, will you be all right? asked one of his abbots.

Priscillian squeezed his eyes shut to stave off memories of nightmares that whirred in his mind. He managed a nod. Yes, he said with smile. I should be fine once I get something in my stomach.

Far off in the distance, a terracotta castle crowned a cliffed isle of emerald landscapes and sprawling palms. He turned to the guardian. Will we sail to the king’s home?

The guardian gestured past the crowded bazaar to a small ship, a craftsman’s masterpiece of polished oak with blue sails that rippled like ocean waves. You two will convene aboard.

And my companions?

The guard glanced at the bishop’s entourage. We’ll accommodate them at the castle after we escort you to the pier. King Amari prefers to hold certain meetings afloat.

Afloat?

The king loves his water.

They strolled through the fish market, Priscillian peering past the cliffside toward the never-ending ocean as the group descended to the main port.

Ah! There he is! bellowed a powerful voice over the crowd. King Amari, flanked by several guardians, leaned against the boat’s ledge, flashing a brilliant smile that gleamed against his ebony complexion. Finely garbed in an indigo agbádá, the broad-shouldered man gestured Priscillian to the ship.

King Amari, said Priscillian with a bow. He stared, mouth agape, struggling for self-constraint despite the king’s incredible presence, but it was the first time he had seen a Moor from as far south as West Alkebulan.

"Welcome to the Adisa!"

Two mlezi guards escorted Priscillian onto the ship. What the ship lacked in size, it made up in grandeur. Bronze plates of carved dolphins stretched from rudder to stern, with the Adisa carved along the center of the hull.

The mlezi guards stood out from the Iberian soldiers. Both the mlezi and Iberian soldiers donned bronze plate armor decked with a raised engraving of the gray whale embellished throughout Karacen, but the mlezi were Moorish, bearing an air both regal and almost arrogant.

King Amari placed a hand along the back of a young girl standing beside him. Bishop, this is my granddaughter Nabii.

Striking and delicate, Nabii stepped forward and offered a graceful incline of the head. A spiraled, sun-tipped curl fell over her eyes. How do you do, Father?

Priscillian bowed. Princess.

A burst of noise cut through the air, followed by three children scampering across the ship.

There they are! said the king. Meet my grandchildren. The one in front is Nahlah, Nabii’s twin.

Priscillian’s mouth fell wide open, eyeing the wild, boyish girl and her brothers dashing across the deck. "Twin?"

Yes, said Amari with a soft chuckle. If you’re an Akachi, you’re a twin.

Upon looking closer, there was a keen resemblance. Bronze, freckled skin, dark brown eyes and delicate features. But unlike Nabii, Nahlah’s complexion was scarred and sun-scorched with a mass of coiled, tangled hair he doubted ever met a comb.

Nahlah maintained a healthy distance from her brothers’ grasp, her hair flying directionless as she brushed past King Amari.

Sorry, Baba! she called over her shoulder. She slid to her knees and crawled underneath the table, paying little mind to the ragged plank floors ripping her skin.

King Amari, asked Priscillian, why is Nahlah’s hair cut short while Nabii’s is not?

Lice.

Amari nudged Nabii toward the adjacent table as the three strolled toward the wide deck. Soon, Nabii was writing on a thin sheet of lambskin while her three siblings scampered across the ship, too engrossed in swordplay to pay Priscillian’s presence any notice.

The king turned to Priscillian. Thank you for traveling such a distance to speak to me. He offered a faint smile, yet behind the deep lines surrounding his eyes lay devastation.

Upon reading King Amari’s letter, Priscillian made the call to Karacen without a second thought. Like the young girl immersed in her writings, he too had endured horrific visions that haunted his nights.

King Amari gestured Priscillian to sit across the table and said, Thank you for heeding my call, Bishop.

Priscillian bowed his head in acknowledgement and took a seat opposite of King Amari. The Akachis intrigued him. Brilliant at sea and endlessly wealthy, the king’s ancestors built a small dynasty near the southern tip of Hispania and flourished. Once a fearsome warrior, King Amari had aged, settling his energies on building his kingdom and doting on his beloved grandchildren — notably, Nabii. Odd, brilliant, and mature beyond her years, the young princess had contributed writings and opinions that led to her becoming renowned within scholarly circles. Although the king’s correspondence made it clear that the young princess was in danger, the threat was not kidnapping, disease, or war, but a threat far more sinister.

A force that raged in her mind.

Nabii speaks highly of you, said the king. She follows research among the academic circles throughout the empire and claims your knowledge is unparalleled.

Priscillian’s shoulders squared, unable to contain his pride.

"When I wrote of my granddaughter’s circumstances, continued the king, you did not balk nor question it. I must admit, that came as quite a surprise from a man of the cloth. He leaned forward, a thick crease lining his brow. Nabii insisted your knowledge is unsurpassed. I pray she is right."

Priscillian shifted uncomfortably before casting a furtive glance at Nabii, whose head poked out from behind her book. He offered the young girl the most pleasant smile he could muster and asked, "Would you mind if I take a look at you?

Nabii complied, stepping forward until the two were eye to eye.

Now breathe deep, murmured Priscillian, leaning close to her back. Now cough.

She complied, her tiny voice rumbling through her back before breaking out into giggles.

Nabii… scolded King Amari.

Sorry, Baba, responded the little girl.

Priscillian checked for lesions, combing his fingers through her long, curly mane to check her scalp. He inspected her mouth, throat, neck and measured her pulse before staring into her eyes. What he saw made him start: The whites of her eyes flamed red, their vessels protruding as if they may burst. Mercy to God…

When is the last time you’ve slept? he asked.

I do not know, replied Nabii, her gaze meeting the ground. The days and nights blur…

The potency of her nightmares grows progressively stronger near the waning crescent of the new moon, said King Amari, his broad jawline clenched. I fear that soon the night terrors will prove to be… too much.

The waning of the crescent moon? asked Priscillian.

Amari responded with a curt nod.

Fascinating, said Priscillian. Many believe the waning crescent of the moon is a sign of life’s beginnings.

Or the end.

King Amari released a heavy sigh. My granddaughter says you are a very learned man. I assume you can concoct a powerful sleeping draught?

I will certainly try.

Nahlah reported she’s been repeating strange utterings throughout the night. If she does not get sleep soon, I fear she may go mad.

Priscillian froze. He too had been hearing strange voices that haunted his nights. Before thinking, he blurted out, Ni wakati wa…

King Amari turned to him, his brows cinched tight. "What did you say?"

Ni wakati wa, repeated Priscillian. He sat back and studied the king with an expectant look in his eyes.

King Amari stared back, his expression blank.

After several awkward moments, Amari scrunched his broad nose. "Now, tell me Bishop, why would I know that?"

Nabii lifted her gaze and faced Priscillian. It means, ‘It is time.’

The bishop jerked upright, knocking over his goblet. Time?

"When it all ends."

Without breaking their gaze, he asked, "When what ends, Princess?"

"Life."

Amari bolted to his feet. ALRIGHT, NOW! He nudged his granddaughter toward the grandchildren before turning to Priscillian, his nose flaring. What is happening to my granddaughter, Bishop?

Priscillian shook his head. I wish that I knew, he said soberly. Perhaps together, Nabii and I can research and identify the root of this occurrence —

And how do you expect to do that? The child is nine years old.

She is a prodigy, argued Priscillian. Her brilliance is renowned across the Empire —

"Enough. Amari lifted a hand, cutting Priscillian off mid-sentence. I’ve heard enough. I will compensate you for your time and inconvenience. Soon, we will arrive back to shore and you can be on your way."

A boat with several soldiers and a nobleman closed in from the distance.

Amari’s jaw clenched. Here comes my son.

The scant crew veered the prince’s boat next to the Adisa until it came to a stop. A man whose squared jaw and strong features were nearly a replica of King Amari’s stepped upon the lowered plank that rose until it was level with the ship’s walkway.

Ndulu, said Amari, I’d like for you to meet Bishop Priscillian from Ávila.

Priscillian bowed.

Prince Ndulu offered a curt bow and looked away.

Father! cried Nahlah, scampering toward Prince Ndulu. She hopped in front of Ndulu, her arms extended for an embrace. He threw Nahlah a dismissive glance before turning and walking away.

Nahlah’s mouth fell open before drawing shut. She stole a furtive glance at her father before hunching forward and shuffling off.

Amari strode toward Nahlah, pulled her up in his arms, and swung her around. Is that my nimble little spider? he asked, tickling her belly. Giggling, she squirmed in a halfhearted attempt to pry free from his playful grip.

Stop, Baba! she yelped in a fit of giggles.

Amari grinned. All right… if I must.

She clung to his arm, gazing starry-eyed as if he were a god.

Ndulu snatched Nahlah from his arms and pulled her to the ground. The girl is getting older now, he hissed. She needs to conduct herself like a lady.

Nahlah sulked toward the table and sat down next to her twin. Her head, crowned in a mangled mess of hair, hung low as she watched her sister inscribing her thoughts on parchment. Without lifting an eye, Nabii scooted closer to her twin until their shoulders and legs were flush. Nahlah set her head on her sister’s shoulder.

Why would I concern myself with the child becoming a lady? asked Amari, giving Nahlah a quick wink. When she will one day become a queen?

Nabii turned to her twin and gave her a gentle nudge.

Amari reached for his goblet. A wave stretched across the deck and pounded the oak table, replacing his goblet of red wine with seawater.

The great whale had arrived.

The children turned toward their grandfather, eager-eyed. He offered a wry smile. Go ahead.

The four tore off their top layer of clothes, revealing their swimwear, and rushed to the edge of the deck. They jumped over the ledge and into the sea.

Priscillian’s mouth fell open. Whatever is going on?

The corner of Amari’s lips edged into a subtle smile. Follow me.

The two men left the prince behind, walking to the lower deck. Glass, several inches thick, encased the west wall of the ship’s lower level, giving a view to the ocean underneath. An elongated sheath of wood, etched with elaborate engravings, framed the window along the boat’s hull. Priscillian could not help but smile at the king’s audacity and imaginative choice to use glass — however thick — to open a window to a spectacular world.

The wood bore a short verse written in a foreign tongue:

Ìdile Saaju Ki Ara Eni. Ìjoba Saaju Ki Ebi. Ìni Àkoko.

What is its meaning? asked Priscillian.

"Ìni Àkoko is the sacred credo of Olókun’s bloodline. Among the gods of the Òrìṣà, Olókun is the ruler of all bodies of water and holds command of all life that dwells within it."

So the Akachis were Olókun’s descendants. His eyes widened. Captivated. How large is your tribe?

Our bloodline is fickle, Bishop. Very few.

Priscillian pulled at his sparse beard, staring at the words with interest. "Ìni Àkoko. Will you translate?"

No.

Seats lined the walls with rounded tables throughout. Cushions, adorned with the finest of fabrics in various shades of the ocean, created a blue hue throughout the room. On the southeast side, several masks representing various tribes of West Alkebulan hung across the walls.

Our small ship is not a reliable structure for warfare or long voyages, but that was not its purpose, said Amari. I use this as a family refuge — where I prepare my grandchildren to be at one with the sea and maintain our family’s legacy. Come see.

Two dolphins peered in the window as if aware of the bishop’s arrival. Amari laughed and placed his hand against the glass where the larger dolphin pressed his nose. Hello, Moree, my old friend.

Moree opened his mouth and released a trilling sound. Amari listened intently before breaking into a hearty laugh.

Priscillian tilted his head. Is that fish talking to you?

Amari boomed with laughter. His name is Moree — and he’s no fish. He’s the ruler of countless pods throughout the oceans, renowned for his bravery and leadership. He tapped on the glass. Moree gave a slight bow and swam off. Our abilities align with our sea-dwelling cousins that breathe air from above.

Nabii appeared on the back of a second dolphin. She tapped her knuckles upon the window to get their attention and waved. Amari smiled and nodded. In response, the two swam off. The men watched the children frolicking with the dolphins in and out of the water.

"In my youth, I only regarded ships as tools to conquer. But the Adisa is an extension of me and my grandchildren. We frequent the sea as much as the weather will allow. It’s who we are."

Amari turned and peered through the thick glass. There is nothing like it in all the world. I chose the finest artisans from Karacen to work with a Phoenician glass blower. He’s quite gifted, renowned throughout the Roman Empire. It took eight years to complete. He sat on a stool near the glass and watched the children as they swam.

My forebears from several generations discovered these lands and settled here, continued Amari. The legends of our conquests, I must admit, were often due to our abilities with water. He smiled and shook his head in reminiscence.

A deep guttural sound echoed through the glass and shook the ship. A whale appeared within their view.

Priscillian’s jaw fell. My Heavens...

That would be Anahita, said Amari. Ana is the queen of the seas. Ana’s thick, spotted gray skin obscured their view of the ocean. She ebbed forward and then disappeared from view.

Nahlah lay on Ana’s back, her eyes trained toward the surface of the ocean in meditation. As if sensing their presence, she turned and looked through the glass.

Amari’s eyes bore through the glass, watching. Whales and dolphins have held a special connection to our ancestors for many millennia. Protecting. Guiding. Warning.

How so?

With their songs or cries — and in battle if they deem it warranted.

Nahlah lay on the beast, caressing its slippery, thick skin with her tiny hand. The whale released a gentle song, stirring all of the sea’s creatures in view to fall still.

Every year Anahita migrated south to the Kingdom of Tayan, where my brother rules. But no more. There are foreboding waves within the water, prompting her to remain close.

To Nahlah?

Amari drew in a deep breath and nodded. And Nabii. Ana is connected to me and my twin brother. A little over a year ago, I noticed that she began speaking to my granddaughters.

Do they speak to your son?

Ndulu? scoffed the king before shaking his head no.

Your grandsons?

Amari tensed at the question. No. Nahlah is strong, stubborn, and fearless, with great command of water for a child her age. As for Nabii — her thirsts lie within books. She’s a leader. Strong and confident, she rules the castle. He leaned over and whispered, She even rules me.

Chuckling, the two ambled to the window where the four dolphins situated themselves before them. Anahita, positioned behind the dolphins, let out a cry as the five animals fixed their gaze upon Amari for several tense moments. He released a long breath and nodded with a sigh.

He turned and faced Priscillian. "You may mentor Nabii for a few months a year until you two discover the answer to this mystery. However, you must teach the other grandchildren when you do. At least until she’s of age."

You have my word.

Amari gave Ana a nod. She released a low hum and slowly swam away.

Tell me, Your Grace. What made you change your mind?

They have spoken.

Chapter 2

PRISCILLIAN’S REVELATION

Realm X

Kingdom of Karacen

411 A.D.

Don’t. Fall. Asleep.

Nabii’s gaze drifted. The weight of prolonged exhaustion had crushed her resolve, forcing her body to plea for an escape.

Don’t. Fall. Asleep.

After having her eyes pried open for six days and five nights, Nabii’s body screamed with pain, her every breath strained as her mind crawled through the mire of stretched time.

Crack!

The sound of a book snapping shut jolted Nabii upright.

Priscillian walked toward the center of the room. Our closing thought for today will be in honor of the Philotes and Neikos, he said. Love and Strife.

It had been a year since her grandfather permitted the bishop to take Nabii under his wing. He did not know what brought them together and why, so he decided the most logical path was to teach her and her siblings — everything. Both a nobleman and a man of God with unquenchable curiosity, the bishop was well-versed in topics that ranged from cartography, history, and mathematics to linguistics and their relation to philosophy. He was brilliant.

He’s such an idiot, groaned Nahlah.

Taiwo raked his fingers through his coiled locks. Pleeease, he moaned with pained exaggeration. Make him stop...

Nahlah leaned toward Taiwo. Let’s poison his wine, she said flashing her eyes with mischief.

Taiwo and Nahlah snickered, swimming in self-amusement.

Keni turned to his twin, his large green eyes cut into a warning glance.

The boys’ strong jawlines and deep-set eyes would be identical to their father if not for their amber complexions and ginger-streaked locks.

Nahlah turned toward Nabii and studied her for a long moment. Her eyes fell heavy with concern. Are you all right, Sister? You don’t look well…

Nabii managed a dull smile that failed to reach her eyes. She knew what she looked like: hollow-cheeked and thin to the bone. I’m just a little tired…

Priscillian cleared his throat. Our closing thought will be in reference to the great philosopher Empedocles, who believed that the cosmic cycle’s most powerful force is love.

Nahlah twisted her face and moaned. He may as well have been stabbing her in the gut.

When strife pulls it apart, continued Priscillian, there’s disharmony among the world’s four elements: Fire, Earth, Air, and Water. He walked toward the center of the room and turned his attention to her brother. What force within love can bring the four elements into balance?

Sacrifice, said Kehinde, his mouth quirked into his usual smug smile before flipping a twisted lock from his eyes.

Very good, Kehinde! said Priscillian. Very good! Man’s willingness to sacrifice comfort, desires, or even their life, is arguably one of our greatest virtues.

"Virtue?" said Nahlah with a snort.

Kehinde leaned toward his twin Taiwo and muttered, Not again…

People sacrifice firstborn babies and throw virgin maidens into volcanos — there’s nothing virtuous about that. She flicked a speck of dirt from her fingernails in his direction. Madness.

Priscillian flared his nose. Thank you, for another day of your thought-provoking, albeit unsolicited, opinion.

Nabii leaned in toward Nahlah. Why must you torture him?

If you force me to listen to his nonsense, returned Nahlah, then he must listen to mine.

Priscillian stepped behind his desk and turned toward Tai, Keni and Nahlah. You three may be excused… Nabii and I have items to discuss.

Nabii turned to avoid her sister’s prying eyes. Ever since the nightmares started, Nahlah clung to her side and watched her every move short of when she relieved herself.

Nabii’s tired, murmured Nahlah, studying her intensely despite Tai tugging at her sleeve. I think we should go back to the castle.

Again, snarled the bishop, your sister and I have items to discuss.

Well — that’s settled, said Keni, giving Nahlah’s sleeve a harsh tug. Enjoy your lessons — bye!

Nahlah cut Priscillian a glare before joining her brothers, who scampered past the thick wooden doors in escape.

Do not leave the grounds! yelled Priscillian. Tai responded with a distant and vague reply. And Nahlah, stop consorting with the beggars outside of the gate. LEST YOU GET LICE! He shook his head. Again…

Priscillian turned to Nabii. Your sister does not care for me, does she?

Well, she begged our grandfather to behead you.

Priscillian smirked. Nahlah can be temperamental —

Twice.

Priscillian paused for a prolonged moment, his brows furrowed with concern. I had you stay behind so we could talk alone. He cut a glance at the mlezi, who stood bold, strong and ever-present. Have the visions returned? For weeks you have not been yourself… and for the past several days, you’ve looked like death.

She felt far worse than she looked. Far worse. Apparitions — deformed, translucent, and hollow-eyed — had grown bolder. They now haunted her days, murmuring in a strange tongue as they lingered above her like gray clouds.

What is happening? asked Priscillian. He crouched until he met her eyes. Share with me, Nabii. You’re not alone.

She sank deep within her seat, her mouth pressed tight. No. She was not alone. She was in their prison. It’s nothing…

It’s not nothing, is it? He walked toward his desk and rifled through a stack of parchment. Give me a moment. There’s something I must show you.

But one moment proved far too long. Darkness clouded the edges of her vision. She rubbed her eyes to clear the haze, blinking rapidly as the wood beams above began to sway and lose form. Her eyes rounded in desperation as she rapidly murmured the three words again and again and again. Don’t fall asleep, don’t fall asleep, don’t fall asleep —

Space dissolved and the stone walls faded before the room dimmed into liquid black.

Unconscious, her body laid flat upon the wood planked floors. The wraiths descended close. Pallid and hollow-eyed, their presence engulfed the room with a thick and pungent stench. Their arms spread into long threads of pale wisps, flanking the walls into an ominous shadow. Her gaze slid toward the mlezi. If only they could see the terror in her eyes. But they could not. She was alone, vulnerable and powerless in this strange dimension — an alternate reality where she was no longer guarded by the tangible world.

Nabii willed her body to move, desperately choking on air to force out a scream. But nothing… nothing cooperated with her will as she lay helpless, her pulse erratic and wild, as putrid mist enveloped her and swallowed her into the darkness.

Chapter 3

STONE OF SIGHT

Realm X

Kingdom of Karacen

411 A.D.

We did it! said Nahlah. She and her brothers had finally managed to escape the monastery grounds right past the mlezis’ watchful eyes. Now they would finally see if the abbots’ rumors about the all-seeing Stones of Sight were true.

Everyone says th-th-that the stones are in the t-t-t-trade market! declared Taiwo with a mischievous grin. W-w-w-weee —

Nahlah gave Taiwo’s hand a gentle squeeze to straighten his words —

Should g-go to the market near the main port.

Good idea, said Nahlah. Let’s go!

The three weaved and ducked along the crowded street market, buzzing with hagglers, insistent shopkeepers, and curious stares. Taiwo, clasping Nahlah’s hand, led the group to the side of a street and approached two cooks standing within four stoned barriers, roasting mackerel on spits.

A portly cook pierced a narrow twig through a chunk of fish meat, leaned over the wall and offered the treat to Nahlah.

Nahlah’s face split into a broad grin. Thank you, kind sir!

Enjoying their treat, the three traipsed through Diner’s Row bathed in the aroma of crackling fish bubbling in a broth of beans, cabbage, and hot spices.

Several pedestrians stared in the children’s direction, eyeing their fine garments and jewelry. Kehinde’s eyes lined with apprehension. I don’t think leaving our guardians behind was a good idea.

Taiwo frowned. D-don’t ruin our p-plan, K-keni.

How are you supposed to find these Stones of Sight, huh?

There’s a mysterious man who dwells in the merchant’s market who secretly holds them, said Nahlah. "The stones give its possessor the power to be all-seeing."

The corner of Kehinde’s mouth quirked. A mysterious man, eh?

Taiwo nodded. Um hmm.

Kehinde shoved Tai for good measure. "If he secretly held them, you twits wouldn’t know about it."

Eeeet’s true! protested Taiwo.

Tai is right, said Nahlah. "The stones are large and clear like crystal. When you put them in water, you can see the future."

Kehinde rolled his eyes. When you put them in water?

Nahlah nodded her head vigorously. Um hmm.

Keni released an exaggerated snort. "Nahlah, really? How can one sister be so brilliant while the other insists upon being so stupid?"

Nahlah threw Keni a hard swat.

He rubbed his arm. Who told you this foolishness?

Everyone knows it, she insisted. Just the other day several servant boys were sharing this tale.

Yes, agreed Tai. It is known.

"How are you my twin? asked Keni, shooting his brother a look of disdain. You’re two years older than Nahlah. One would think that you had sense enough to not believe everything that she says. He turned on his heel and headed toward the monastery. I’ve had enough of this adventure. Mother will whip us if we are discovered. We had better head back now."

The thought of being the recipient of their mother’s notorious whippings persuaded Nahlah to comply.

The three strolled through the winding streets, passing endless rows of merchant stands when a smooth voice emerged through the bazaar.

Nahlah…

The silky voice of a young woman brought Nahlah to a stop. She whipped around. A small crowd of pedestrians cleared to expose a woman. Delicately framed with skin of dewy ebony, she was almost too great of an ethereal beauty to be real. Extending a warm smile, the merchant held Nahlah by the arm and pulled her closer. Hello, Nahlah.

Nahlah’s brows knitted with suspicion. How do you know my name?

I believe there’s a special stone you would like to see, cooed the merchant ignoring the question. She threw a quick wink. Come with me and take a look.

Nahlah turned to her brothers. "There is a stone of sight. She gestured toward the merchant. You see, Keni. We were right. She’s going to show us our futures."

M-m-maybe it will tell us that w-w-we don’t have to go to the bishop’s classes any longer, quipped Tai.

Nahlah chuckled in agreement.

The merchant pulled a clear, round stone out of her pouch and presented it to Tai. See, young prince. It is beautiful, is it not?

The boys grabbed the stone and immediately began tugging it between each other. Keni caught hold of the round stone and dashed off into the crowd with Tai at his heels.

The merchant’s mouth curved with satisfaction. Never mind them. She reached into her satchel, pulled out a triangular figure with four sides, and placed it in the palm of Nahlah’s hand. This is much better.

Nahlah studied the crystal with bright-eyed curiosity.

It’s a tetrahedron, continued the woman. An ancient artifact — it is the key that will shape the future of the whole world.

A flash of light followed by crystal-blue waves gliding along smooth stones appeared along the tetrahedron’s surface. Nahlah gasped and edged in close. Soon, the water transformed into a rapid boil before rising in a ribbon of mist.

The object was miraculous — like nothing she had ever seen. A sly grin edged along her lips, envisioning the sweet, sweet moment when she and Tai proved that pompous Keni wrong.

She turned the object to the next side. Men with wings soared in the air, cutting through clouds that blanketed the sky in rolling gusts. The clouds twisted in a crescendo, transforming into a raging funnel cloud. Wind…

No, Nahlah, said the woman. "Air."

Nahlah flipped the object. Foliage, trees, and dirt the color of deep mahogany stirred along the surface. A sliver of green burst from the ground. Leaves and a multicolored bloom exploded into a cluster of trees. A young boy with straight black hair and a painted face blended into the brush. Earth.

Nabii will love this.

Nahlah inspected the fourth side. Embers flickered into white-hot flames that twirled in bright flashes of gold and amber, spinning in a revelry of brilliance. "Fire."

A woman — powerful and bold, her emerald eyes alight with rage — appeared within the crystal. The woman’s eyes were narrowed, glaring at something out of view as wind scattered her wild ginger locks.

Nahlah leaned in close. With the exception of her thin mouth and round face bearing a most unusual mark that stretched from temple to cheek, the woman looked similar to Nahlah's own mother. The mark that riddled the side of the flamed woman’s face was ablaze, its edges shining with an iridescent red glow.

The crystal’s images faded as the bluish glow dimmed, until the crystal lay in Nahlah’s hands, clear and insignificant. She turned to the merchant. "What was that?"

"The Four Dynasties. The Four Elements."

Nahlah stared at the object, its significance weighing heavy within her hand. What can I do with it?

As I said — the merchant retrieved the artifact and slipped it into Nahlah’s satchel — you will need it in the future.

Need?

Nahlah frowned and placed her hand over the satchel. The merchant said that it would tell her the future.

The woman’s eyes flashed. The contrast of her dark complexion against her golden eyes had a striking effect. "It is for your eyes only. No one — and I mean no one — should see the gift. Not even your sister."

How does she know I have a sister? If she couldn’t brag about the strange object, what was the point? What am I supposed to do with it?

The woman knelt low until her eyes leveled with Nahlah’s. When it calls out to you, you will know.

Nahlah stared at the woman for several beats.

Huh?

The woman drew in a long sigh. As I said. You will know.

Nahlah was not entirely confident she should have accepted the artifact. Nabii might be irritating, but not sharing such delicious information with her sister was akin to not having the thing at all.

There was no enjoyment in that.

Tai and Keni joined Nahlah, distracting her for a brief moment before she spun around to speak to the merchant. But the mysterious woman had disappeared, slinking among the swarm of passersby in the street.

Nahlah spun around, scanning the crowd for the mysterious woman. Where did she go?

She probably slunk off after taking your coin, sniped Keni.

An eerie swell twisted within Nahlah’s gut. Her hand grazed over the object within her

Reviews for The Twelve Realms

[wendyrey · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

First published in 1960 and set in Afghanistan at the time the Americans and Russians were both trying to influence the King, a British diplomat sets off to find two friends who have got themselves misplaced in one of the hairier regions of this already hairy country.A beautifully written evocative book (smell the dust, witness the corruption, feel the hospitality).Robin Jenkins is one of the best recent Scottish writters. Brilliant