Secrets of the Forbidden Land: The Maelstrom, #1

By Marina Ermakova

An ancient, archeological fantasy with lost magical technology and hidden temples.

The Kings of Viemis have sent their daughters to Kava for generations, to become one of the many wives of the all-powerful Maelstrom—and not a single one of them has been seen or heard from again. With the departure of the latest princess looming, her royal parents have spared no expense in finding some way to stay informed of her fate. On their command, the kingdom's glyphwriters rushed to redevelop a lost magical technology, capable of communication over great distances. But the technology requires a glyphwriter to operate it.

Cyrele, too low-born to rise beyond the rank of an assistant despite her skill, receives the command to become the princess' personal glyphwriter. It leaves her with no choice but to embark on a journey no one has ever returned from, across a land filled with the Maelstrom's power—and riddled with his secrets.

So long as no one seeks out the Maelstrom's secrets, the princess' retinue will arrive safely in Kava. But secrets exist to be found out—the only question is, who will survive the discovery?

Journey into the unknown with Secrets of the Forbidden Land, a short adventure fantasy novel about a resourceful but unwilling protagonist pitted against all-powerful god-kings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marina Ermakova
• Release date: Dec 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223186052

Marina Ermakova

Adventure fantasy writer Marina Ermakova has degrees in genetics and history, and the heart of a lifelong geek. She loves writing about outsiders, loners, and thinkers.  Her young adult epic fantasy novel Chains Carried on Wings is about finding acceptance for who you are instead of who you're supposed to be, and her urban fantasy/post-apocalyptic novel Terrestrial Magic is about applying logic towards understanding the fantastical. (And about an awkward woman on the asexuality spectrum who doesn't know how to deal with a burgeoning relationship—especially not while dodging assassination attempts.)

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

Secrets of the Forbidden Land

First edition. December 13, 2023.

Copyright © 2023 Marina Ermakova.

All rights reserved. The author’s specific and express permission must be obtained to reproduce and/or otherwise use for purposes of training artificial intelligence technologies.

Written by Marina Ermakova.

Chapter One

THE NARROW PASS OF the ravine stretched out before Cyrele in a path that would take her away from home forever. Continuous bouts of thunder echoed off the stone, almost as if the dark skies and stormy weather had formed to punctuate this lifechanging moment—but in reality, they had nothing to do with her at all. The magical storm raging through the wasteland beyond this ravine had existed for almost two hundred years already. Doubtless, it would continue long after she was gone.

The sad truth was that nothing about today’s events was actually about her. She wasn’t even the one truly being sent away.

No, the Princess Kamene was the tragic heroine of this story, while Cyrele had merely been given into Kamene’s service ahead of the princess’ marriage to a foreign prince—to the foreign prince, the heir of the all-powerful leader of the Kavan Kingdom, a man who would one day hold the title of the Maelstrom. If this were an epic romance, Kamene would win the prince’s affections with guile and divine guidance, after which he would name her his queen over his other wives. If this were a heroic tale, the prince would follow a great destiny while Kamene pined for him, until she could bear it no longer and threw herself off a cliff from heartbreak.

But this was reality, which meant that once the wedding was over, the princess could reasonably expect to end up like every other foreign wife the Maelstrom and his heirs had taken. Faded into obscurity. Never mentioned in any official documents or records. Never even considered important enough to have her messages delivered back home to Viemis.

Except Kamene’s royal parents weren’t satisfied with that outcome. And unfortunately for Cyrele, she was their solution to the problem—or rather, the expensive artifact she carried inside the bag strapped to her waist was. But then, the artifact itself was useless without a glyphwriter like her to operate it.

Cyrele had once thought herself lucky. It had taken all of her family’s savings, every favor they’d accumulated for decades, to even get the daughter of a crafter admitted into the Glyphwriting Order’s school in the first place. After all that struggle, to be chosen as a research assistant on a project set to research the very artifact she carried on her person now, to rediscover the use of this lost magical technology? It had been the greatest achievement of her life—

—and yet today, she’d learned that all her work, all those sacrifices, had only made her the most expendable glyphwriter in the kingdom. The one without any connections of note. The only glyphwriter that the king and queen could uproot and send wherever they liked without offending someone who mattered.

Hence the two guardsmen walking behind her with orders to ensure that both she and the priceless artifact she carried reached their destination. To ensure that she wouldn’t flee, because the temptation was surely there.

Before her, the stone walls of the ravine opened up to reveal the dark wasteland ahead, obscured by dust storms roiling through the air. In the distance, lightning bolts shot down from the sky in quick succession, filling the air with an unnatural amount of electricity. This magical storm circled a large swathe of the Maelstrom’s lands, the very place that would become Cyrele’s new home, forming a barrier that protected the capital city of Lesra Kar—and cut it off from the rest of the world. Created by the first Maelstrom after he’d emerged victorious from a devastating civil war waged between the members of his own family, the storm had passed into the control of his successors from generation to generation.

To think that one man could wield such power...

No dawdling, Elei Cyrele, one of the guardsmen told her in a firm tone of voice, though at least his form of address was polite. The princess’ tent is that way.

The guard’s arm reached past her to point left, towards a roiling river that cut through the surrounding wasteland. The air above the river remained free of lightning and dust storms, allowing her to see the small fleet of barges anchored near a rudimentary dock, ready for the princess to board.

It’s this way, miss, the other guard said with more kindness, moving forward to lead her towards a procession of carts and wagons standing along a road that led to the river’s shore—the princess’ retinue, no doubt, preparing to unload their cargo and passengers.

Bronze-skinned people milled about, dressed in light tunics and shawls, talking and packing and tending to the oxen—they were Viemians, like Cyrele. Some of them had come only to load the princess’ belongings onto the barges. Others were here to join the princess in journeying through the wasteland, then come home if they were lucky, or stay with the princess forever if they weren’t.

Quieter, solitary figures edged around the clusters of Viemians, wearing loose linen shirts and pants, skin tones varying from the darkest of browns to the lightest of golds—these were the people of the Kavan Kingdom, sent from the great city of Lesra Kar by the Maelstrom himself to serve his grandson’s betrothed. Or possibly to spy on her.

The guards led Cyrele past the procession to a large tent, set up as a small sitting area for high-class travelers until their retinue was ready to leave. There was no doubt that the princess waited for her inside. And suddenly, Cyrele felt her palms begin to sweat.

She’d seen Kamene from afar during public ceremonies, but she’d never interacted with a royal before. Now, she was about to meet the person who would control her life for the foreseeable future. What was the princess even like? The rumors that circled Viemis called her regal and knowledgeable, the picture of propriety—but that was her public face. How would she be in private? Demanding or generous? Petty or kind?

One of the guardsmen began drawing back the tent flap, revealing a woman seated slouched against a couch, dressed in an elegant traveling gown as Viemian servants tended to her hair. No doubt this was the Princess Kamene. She waved her servants away as the guard, then Cyrele, ducked inside. The second guardsmen remained outside, the lucky man.

Kamene’s eyes fell on Cyrele, and suddenly it felt like everything was happening far too fast—but it didn’t matter that Cyrele wasn’t ready for any of this. Her fate was coming for her anyway.

SPEAK, KAMENE SAID, voice firm and unwavering, but also almost...resigned.

Your highness, the guard said, before nodding towards Cyrele. This is the glyphwriter.

"Be quieter, the princess suddenly hissed. Do you want the Kavan servants to overhear and report to their prince? Everyone knows glyphwriters disappear in Lesra Kar."

Alarm coursed through Cyrele, because she most assuredly did not know that. Rumors about the mysterious city of Lesra Kar abounded throughout Viemis, but so few people received the Maelstrom’s permission to travel inside his lands that hardly anyone knew what was true. As far as Cyrele had heard, there was only one Kavan who’d held any sort of grudge against glyphwriters—the first Maelstrom, who’d reigned almost two hundred years ago. The man who’d ordered the purge of Viemis’ original Glyphwriting Order and everything they had ever created, changing the course of history.

But for all the pain that he’d caused and for all knowledge that he’d destroyed, the first Maelstrom’s actions came from a personal vendetta against the head of the Order for having an affair with his queen. It did nothing to explain why anyone in Kava would target glyphwriters today.

Yet the princess seemed so confident—perhaps she had access to the select few who had made the journey to Lesra Kar? If her information was accurate, it didn’t bode well.

My apologies, princess, the guardsman said, almost managing to sound sincere—though of course he wasn’t. The simple reality was that he had no reason to care about what happened to one exiled glyphwriter who’d never set foot in Viemis again.

You’re dismissed, the princess said sharply.

The guard bowed, backing out of the tent. And Cyrele suddenly found herself the center of attention among the half-dozen strangers inside the tent—the princess with a hard glint in her eyes, the servants who’d stopped their duties to hover in place until called upon, a poised woman standing behind the princess’ couch with a scroll. Some were subtle, others bold, but all of them had turned their gazes to Cyrele.

So you’re the scholar, Kamene said as she sat up, her posture tight. "Now that we’ve established that you can tell no one exactly what you’ll do for me, let’s discuss what you can say. Enosis, what positions do the women in my retinue hold?"

The woman with the scroll gave a quick bow and stepped forward, her movements perfunctory. Several attending ladies have joined you as your companions, your highness.

None of the of truly highborn ladies accepted the position, Kamene commented with a trace of bitterness, eyes still locked on Cyrele, "but still, they all vastly outrank you. It’d be impossible for you to disguise yourself among them. What else?"

Many domestic servants to arrange your wardrobe, clean your quarters, and serve your food.

Simple enough tasks, Kamene said, heedless that the servants executing those ‘simple’ tasks were standing next to her with deliberately neutral expressions. But no doubt an intellectual would find a way to fumble them. Enosis, continue.

An accountant, a scribe, a healer—

And therein lies the problem, the princess interrupted. "Every intellectual role in my retinue corresponds to exactly one position, all of them currently filled by qualified women with the specialized knowledge to perform them—sometimes they’ll even be adequate. These aren’t decoy roles I can give to someone who’ll do them poorly."

What was happening? Cyrele hadn’t even expected to hide her abilities as a glyphwriter, let alone need another skillset she could convincingly fake.

Perhaps you’re most suited to pretend at being a scribe. However— the princess flicked her wrist to indicate Enosis "—this is my scribe. She’s perfectly capable of handling her duties. No doubt, you wouldn’t be. Unless I’m wrong? Can you write and speak in the Kavan language? Do you have the skills to replace my scribe?"

A trace of a frown appeared on Enosis’ face—she wasn’t happy with this line of questioning. But Cyrele was the one with reason to worry, because she hadn’t spent years serving a princess destined to live in Lesra Kar. She hadn’t had time to learn the language.

I don’t, your highness, Cyrele croaked out, over a sudden sense of helpless frustration. No one cared that she hadn’t been prepared for any of this. She was expected to simply...adapt.

The princess tilted her head towards her scribe. Enosis, do you require assistance to complete your tasks?

No, your highness, the woman said softly but steadily—with a trace of hostility, even.

There was nothing for it but for Cyrele to keep her head bowed and accept the censure. It stung that she’d spent so long on her studies, only to be reprimanded for a lack of unrelated skills, but part of her suspected that this conversation had very little to do with her capabilities. These women wanted her to know she wasn’t welcome here.

Kamene gave a sudden sigh, releasing the tension in her posture and settling into something closer to exhaustion. Do you have any use for her at all? she asked Enosis.

No, your highness, Enosis repeated. Her eyes bore into Cyrele, her expression almost smug, like she found satisfaction in declaring Cyrele’s uselessness before her princess. But in focusing on