Exiles: Realms of the Infinite, #1

Exiles, Book One of Realms of the Infinite Series

Copyright © 2014 by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow/R. J. Larson

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

While every effort has been made to ensure the accuracy and legitimacy of the references, referrals, and links (collectively links) presented in this e-book, R. J. Larson is not responsible or liable for broken links or missing or fallacious information at the links. Any links in this e-book to a specific product, process, web site, or service do not constitute or imply an endorsement by R. J. Larson of same, or its producer or provider. The views and opinions contained at any Links do not necessarily express or reflect those of R. J. Larson.

Map design and photography: Katharin Fiscaletti

Cover model: Brianna Anderson

Cover design: Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

Editing: Jerry Gramckow and Kathi Macias

Character List

Agocii \Ah- goss -ee\ Nation of warrior tribes south of the Eosyths

Araine Kahalome \Ah-Rain Kah-hay-lome\ Daughter of Darion, leader of ToronSea’s Atea-worshiping colony.

Belaal \Bell-A-el\ Kingdom south of Siphra, southeast of the highlands.

Bel-Tygeon \Bell-Ty-jee-on\ King of Belaal.

Clan Darom \Daw-rome\ Southern clan of the Eosyths.

Clan Ma’rawb \Mah-rawb\ Western Eosyth Clan, ruled by Tsir Mikial, father of Lije.

Clan Qedem \Keh-dem\ Eastern Eosyth Clan, ruled by High Lord Levos, father of Nikaros.

Clan Tsahfon \Tsah-fone\ Northern Eosyth Clan, ruled by Tsir Davos, father of Josias.

Corban Thaenfall \Cor-ban Thane-fall

Ebatenai \E-bat-en-ay\ Bel-Tygeon’s household steward.

Ela Roeh Lantec \El-ah Roe-eh Lan-Tek\ Prophet of the vanquished city-state of Parne.

Eosyths \E-o-siths\ Confederation of highland clans who joined Belaal and the Agocii in the failed siege of the ruined city-state of Parne.

Kien Lantec \Kee-en Lan-Tek\ Lord of Aeyrievale in Siphra. Ela Roeh Lantec’s husband.

Nikaros \Nik-kehr-aws, servant and scribe to Bel-Tygeon. Son of***the Eosyth high lord, Levos.

Rethae Dasarai \Reth-ay Da-Sar-ay\ Princess of Belaal. Bel-Tygeon’s sister. Sovereign of Sulaanc’s Women’s Palace.

Rtial Vioc \Reh-tee-al Vee-oak\ A commander of Belaal.

Siyrsun \Seer-sun\ Belaal’s former General of the Army. Also known as Old Dreki.

Serena \Seh-ree-na\ Daughter of Clan Darom’s ruler, Tsir Andris.

Tsir Andris \Sir An-dris\Ruler of Clan Darom. Follower of the Infinite. Destroyed Eosyth altars to Utzaos.

Utthreates \Oot-threat-eez\ Belaal commander.

Utzaos \Oot-zay-aws\ Former Eosyth god of the sun.

Utzaii \Oot-zah-ee\ Agocii god of the sun. Named among the Eosyths as Utzaos.

CHAPTER 1

ToronSea would be a lovely place to live if it weren’t for her own people.

Clutching her marketing basket, Araine Khalome halted in the puddle-edged street and glared at two gangly young men—scrawny, cloak-clad Borii Kon and his only friend, Otris. As the smirking Otris stood guard, Borii swirled a black oil-stick against a pristine white wall, leaving a crude variant of the goddess Atea’s sacred serpentine coils.

Borii! Araine marched toward him, her sheer blue veils a-tangle with the spring breeze, their snapping briskness quite fitting her mood.

Spying her Borii and Otris darted away, silently taunting her with wicked grins.

Araine stopped. Chasing those two was the last thing she wanted to do. Oh! If only the homeowner beyond that wall could catch those troublemakers and bloody their noses! Did Borii truly believe he was paying homage to the goddess with his unsanctioned artwork?

And how could divine Atea possibly be pleased? The elegant serpentine symbols of her powers had just been reduced to a blotchy mess, which would undoubtedly stir local ire against the goddess and against every Siphran Atean who’d immigrated to this quiet Traceland town of ToronSea. It would serve Borii and Otris right if the divine Atea were to overcast them this instant and banish their souls to the Nightlands. Scowling, Araine tugged her unruly veils closer. Why can’t people behave? Where, for goodness sake, is their honor?

Delicate footsteps clicked toward Araine in her sister’s distinctive dancer’s pace. Despite her wood-soled shoes, worn to defeat the mud, Iris was exquisite in her fine rose tunic and the sheer pink gossamer veils covering her gold-blonde braids. Her lilting voice amused, she linked her arm with Araine’s. Talking to yourself again, little sister? Or are you now praying in the streets?

The only thing I’m praying right now is that fools such as Borii and Otris don’t cause the rest of us to be run out of town! She nodded toward the smeared goddess coils. Why doesn’t Atea concern herself with mortal wrongdoings? Or right-doings, for that matter?

Sst! Swiftly guiding Araine onward, Iris scolded beneath her breath, "Rain, hush! How can you dare to say such a thing? Your rebelliousness might call down woes from the heavens, and you sound like Grumps!"

Well, Araine huffed, secretly pleased by the comparison to Grandfather, I’m only saying what I think, and Grumps might agree—as you should! Anyway, I’m not being rebellious. I’m longing to set things aright instead of bowing to wrong just because wrong is easier.

Safer! Iris hissed. It’s—

Poo! Araine met her sister’s frosty, lovely gaze. Setting wrongs aright will make things easier in the future. It’s wrong of that stupid Borii to scribble on other people’s clean walls, just as it was wrong of that brainless lordling to torment you in Atea’s...

Iris flinched at Araine’s mention of her faithless love, and Araine bit down her impulsive rant. Heedless of any onlookers, she hugged her sister in the middle of the muddy street. I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Don’t fret. As soon as we’re settled today, I’ll burn my finest incense and prostrate myself in utter remorse before our shrine. As best she could. Irritability didn’t lend itself to worship, though divine Atea commanded her reverence.

Iris blinked back tears and shook her gold-braided head, in command of herself again. Forget him, as I must. Oh, Rain, please be careful! And thank you for the incense. I dread to think of what might happen if you didn’t atone.

But why must she atone? She wasn’t wrong to wish the goddess would intercede, was she? Araine sniffed and rummaged through her basket for rose water and cleansing herbs and oils. Borii and Otris are the ones who are heading for a cursing. And not from the goddess. Just look at that wall! I can’t endure it. I’m going to alert the owner, apologize, and then scrub the symbol from—

No! Iris dragged Araine toward the opposite side of the street, almost running into a brown-robed woman carrying a tall clay water vessel.

The woman gasped, Watch yourselves! Silly girls.

Regaining her balance, Araine blushed and nudged her sister. What did you do that for?

Iris glanced around then muttered, I won’t allow you to destroy the sacred symbol.

A mockery of the sacred symbol. There’s a difference.

There isn’t, Iris argued. "If you’d attend lessons more often, you’d understand. Once the symbol is given form, it exists and becomes an instrument of her power."

Nonsense. That smear of charcoal simply clung to the wall, looking ugly. What power? Araine swallowed her urge to voice the words. She didn’t mean them. At least not entirely. But what was wrong with her lately? Araine Khalome, daughter of Darion, leader of the Atean colony in ToronSea, should never fall prey to such impious notions. Indeed, she loved Atea. Even so... As soon as she reached home, she would send an anonymous note and some money to the homeowner to pay for a nice coating of plaster. Hiding the symbol wouldn’t destroy it, and—

Iris gave her a startling shake. Stop! Your mood’s written all over your face! If you’re finished buying your supplies, then let’s whisk you away before someone from the gathering sees or hears you! What would our parents say if you’re dragged before the council at the next meeting? Really, Rain, what’s taken hold of you today? Perhaps you don’t fear for your well-being, but I do. Come away.

She hustled Araine onward, edging around puddles. Araine scowled, wanting to stomp through several muddy pools to vent her frustration. Oh, how like a big sister to issue orders and expect obedience! But arguing with Iris wouldn’t win her in the least. Couldn’t Iris just listen?

A sharp, beckoning whistle summoned Araine’s attention. A man strode toward them now, pale, brown-haired, and swathed in dark, official robes. Giff, a native of ToronSea, and quite a nice man, if one could excuse him for whistling at Iris in public.

Iris halted, smoothing her lovely face to a mask of serenity as perfect as her glossy golden braids. She smiled at Giff, who faltered for an instant then offered her a ring of big jangling brass keys. Ladies, he said, looking only at Iris, what a pleasure to greet you. I was about to bring these to your parents—all the keys to every lock in your new home.

Iris accepted the ring, smiling, meltingly sweet. Giff, thank you! We’re eager to move in; our parents are overseeing the final delivery of our belongings. The house is beautiful.

He grinned at her enthusiasm. I’m glad you like it. My family hates the idea of parting with the old home, but it’s too much for any of us to maintain.

You’re welcome to visit. Iris fluttered her lashes, making Araine long to mimic her. Any time after we’ve moved in.

The instant they parted, with Giff beaming like a besotted man, Araine tugged her sister’s arm and whispered, Did you truly mean that? He’s so smitten that you shouldn’t toy with him. Anyway, after suffering such heartbreak last year, I’d think—

Perhaps it’s time I try to mend. I’m tired of weeping and sighing. Rain, I want to laugh again. Iris watched Giff walk away. Did you know that he’s a magistrate and the local leader of the Infinite’s followers? If I must lead others to Atea, as Darion insists, then why not one of ToronSea’s foremost citizens? He might bring his whole enclave with him.

She sounded almost calculating. Obviously she’d finally decided to obey their father and actively seek souls for Atea. As Araine should.

But must she serve the goddess through friendships and flirtations?

If she’d read Call of Atea correctly, then yes. If she loved Atea as she claimed.

Discomfited, Araine shifted her basket of spices and resins to the crook of her arm and followed her sister through the muddied stone-paved streets of ToronSea toward their new home.

ARAINE HESITATED INSIDE their new home’s huge stone hall. Stocky, red-faced, and robed in clashing orange wool, Father blustered at the workers like a storm sweeping in from the ocean. "Don’t just drop things! These are antiques, generations old! Set them down gggently!" He drew out the final word, emphasizing his demand.

The workers looked ready to slam down their current loads and stomp out, poor things. Araine rushed toward Father while casting a grin at the workers. Their mutinous expressions eased. She hugged her father’s cloak-draped arm. Darion— Father never liked to be called Father, just as Mother preferred to be called Liyda. If you have other tasks, I’ll take over here.

No. Just carry your gear upstairs to your chamber—that way. The heaviest items have been hauled up, so remove this clutter of yours from my sight.

Araine nodded and hushed. When Darion took that tone, one didn’t challenge him. At least he’d allotted her the delightful tower room, just as she’d hoped. Yes, Sir. She swept an apologetic smile at the workers and scurried past them toward her pile of personal belongings. A pathetically mangled heap caught her gaze. Someone had crushed a collection of scrolls—her favorite poems! Oh! She didn’t dare look at the workers.

Behind her Iris said, Darion, here are the keys from Giff. Which chamber is mine? And have we planned this evening’s meal?

Iris, your chamber is down that far corridor to the right. Yes, our meal is planned. Remove your gear. If you see Liyda, send her to me.

Of course. Iris collected some of her gear, offered a smile to the workers, and glided toward the corridor. Elegant as a living, moving statue.

The men gawked after her. Araine swept up as many of her belongings as she could hold, dangled her basket from three fingers, and darted toward the tower’s arched entryway. The stairs, twisting upward in a stone spiral, promised some sort of adventure—and escape from Darion’s bad mood.

But not from her grandfather, Grumps, the love.

Grandfather met her on the landing at the top of the stairs, his silver hair escaping in wild tufts from its futile application of pomade. There you are! Grumps unhooked the basket from her fingers—she was about to drop it anyway. Where’s my liniment?

Araine longed to muss his hair further. I’ll heat up a batch tonight. Be patient.

He shot her a craggy-browed look, with the merest grin. At my age there’s no time to be patient. Swinging Araine’s basket toward another flight of stairs, he said, Your chamber’s up there, and welcome to it—fewer stairs for me to climb. I dumped your lyre and herbs inside your doorway, and I’ll carry up the basket. My chamber’s here. He thumped a vine-carved door to his right, grousing. Seems your father intends to hide us in this tower, with you to wait on me.

Well, I’m content with the arrangement, Sir, Araine murmured, pretending humbleness. Sorry you’re not.

Ha. Impudent girl! Grumps smiled. Fetch your gear and make my liniment.

She lost count of the number of times she ran down and up the stairs, but what did it matter? After a year of crowded rental lodgings, she finally had her own chamber again. Almost dancing through her high-ceilinged stone room, Araine uncovered and opened the snug wooden shutters in both small windows, then sighed with delight at the garden below. An ocean-scented breeze touched her cheek with a hint of promise as if a blessing had slipped into her spacious room with the delicious salt air.

Frivolous thought. Like one of her dream-fancies. Back to reality. She would put away her gear, gather the last of her money, and prepare that note to the poor homeowner to apologize and pay for a plastering. She’d also pledged incense to Atea. Though, she murmured to the goddess, I do wish I’d been allowed to scold Borii and Otris for scribbling on that wall.

Silence answered. As always.

Araine frowned. Why was she perturbed with the silence? The lack of a spiritual tie? Admit the truth. Hadn’t she, for all her devotion to Atea, longed for affirmation before trusting her body and soul to the goddess? Wasn’t this why she’d shunned the spring worship rites last year and this year, even as they’d enticed her? The least sign would be enough. A whisper on the wind. An image in a daydream... Yet for all her prayers, she’d received no sign.

Shrugging off her frustration, Araine unpacked her writing gear, scribbled the note, and bundled it up with her coins. She’d run it down to the unfortunate homeowner this evening. Satisfied she scanned her chamber. Where was the best place to set up her work area? A dark, cumbersome, upright storage chest, carved in the same pattern of vines as the doors, beckoned her from a far corner. The tall, battered doors creaked open as she tugged them, revealing shelves and row after row of lovely wooden compartments. Perfect! Her clothes, lyre, spices, oils, resins, lamps, and mortars would easily fit inside, leaving room for her collection of scrolls.

As she slid one of her bronze mortars into a compartment, a muffled crunch halted her.

Araine set aside the mortar, then reached into the compartment and withdrew a long, obviously-old embroidered bag. Peering inside she saw numerous parchments rolled together. Ha!

Treasure, indeed. Surely one of these parchments held words or mysteries to savor.

The documents rustled and crackled as she unfurled them and surveyed the flowing script. The letters drew her in, archaic yet legible as she tilted them toward the window: ...for the way of the righteous shines like the dawn...its radiance ever-increasing as the full splendor of daylight... Superb! Could Borii and Otris ever comprehend such beauty? Skimming the next parchment, she read...you are forever in My sight, precious and honored, because I love you....

The old words seemed alive, taking hold in her heart like a love letter from an adored suitor. She read hungrily until her thoughts skittered over one word. Infinite!

Araine slapped a hand over her mouth. Plagues! Her tongue would rot just before she died. Surely, for all her remoteness, the goddess Atea had heard her say that Name and saw her beguiled by these words. Araine Khalome, daughter of Darion Khalome, enraptured by the Infinite—the despised most ancient God, loved by narrow-minded fools. Oh, she was cursed! Nevertheless, now that she’d called that Name and stood entranced by His verses... She exhaled, her ever-curious soul questing as she breathed, Infinite, do You exist?

His words glowed at her from the parchment, becoming fiery living gold, filling her thoughts, calling to her soul with a fascination that Atea should have possessed.

Affirmation indeed, but from the wrong Deity! And...just...wrong.

Oh... She was mentally splintered. Seeing living words...images that belonged in dreams, not life! Araine sank to her knees, unable to look away from the radiant script...from those gleaming, too-alive words that spelled absolute disaster.

TRYING TO IGNORE HIS renewed apprehensions, Nikaros, second son of Lord Levos, Clan Qedem of the Eosyths, ducked into the leather tent, hung his bow and quiver of arrows on a peg, and then circled behind his gathered family to kneel at his father’s left.

His delayed appearance drew a searching glance from his older brother, Aleon, who lifted one dark eyebrow in a silent request for news. Nik shrugged. Their mother, Zinaya, wrapped in her regal crimson embroidered robes, and armed with her ceremonial dagger—the undisputed queen of the clan, and Lady of all the Eosyths—threw Nikaros a fond smile and bowed her dark braid-crowned head. At last! Pray and eat.

Seated to her left, Father, big, calm, and purposeful, slid a crisp wedge of bread into his own bowl. Without looking up from the food, he asked, Nik, any fresh signs of those campfires on the ridge to the east?

No, my lord. Nikaros smiled as his thoughtful sister-in-law, Tiphera, nudged a basket of the toasted flat bread toward him. Rich stew in a nearby bowl sent its warm, spiced aroma into the air, spiking his hunger. Whoever they were, it seems they had enough sense to douse their fires completely before leaving their sites. Hit again by the uneasiness that had been stalking him for weeks, whether waking or sleeping, he added, I still wonder if we should move on. Pasture the herds higher.

We just arrived here two days ago, Aleon argued. How would we explain your impulse to others? It’s still spring. We might be caught in a blizzard, and Father would be blamed.

Matching their father’s calm demeanor, Nikaros said, It makes sense that if we dread certain visitors, we ought to become difficult to find. Perhaps we could retreat to the caves. These mountains were honeycombed with caverns large enough to conceal their fires. Surely Clan Qedem could agree on a site.

Father glanced at Nikaros, his composed face frustratingly indecipherable. I’ll express your concerns to the other men at the evening fire. For now, eat while the food is hot.

Bowing his head, Nikaros breathed out a prayer to the Infinite—the Mighty One, mysterious Creator and God, Victor of Parne. To Him, all thanks, with a silent plea for blessings and protection upon his family and their clan. With the prayer, Nik fought to release his fears.

Five days past Tiphera’s father, Tsir Andris, leader of Clan Darom to the south, sent word through his scribe that forces from the kingdom of Belaal were prowling through these mountains.

Beware. The monster Belaal has invaded Eosyth lands. Commander Utthreates sent forces to all four clans on behalf of General Siyrsun and Belaal’s god-king. Intent unknown.

Nik almost gritted his teeth contemplating the cipher’s failures. How large were these forces? Were lives threatened? Why risk a vital courier bird for so few words? Clan Darom’s scribe, Nik’s own friend Detzios, had left him hanging with no details to offer his father or the other men, a mortification that wasn’t Nik’s fault but had still earned him aggravated looks as he’d relayed the news to the other men. Detzios must have been in a panic when he wrote his cipher. Nik would snag his friend at the next clan gathering and remind him to add more details in the future. Scribes could not afford to lose their wits and forget their training while conveying information. As soon as his lord-father and the other men decided whether or not to relocate the tribe, he’d respond to Detzios with their future location and request more information.

Finished with his stew, Nikaros bowed his head toward Mother and Tiphera, honoring them silently before telling Father, My lord, I’ll go outside and resume watch. He’d also check the clan’s courier birds and feed and water them.

Good. Lord Levos smiled, crinkling a long scar on his right cheekbone. I’ll walk with you. He shook out his gray fur mantle, clattering its heavy silver clasps and chains. Even in this light, his torq—the thick, rope-like gold emblem of his rank as high lord of the Eosyths—shone, encircling the base of his throat. As he stood, big and regal, every bit the high lord, Nik grinned in turn, looking his father straight in the eyes. Soon he hoped he would equal his father strength for strength and finally beat him in a wrestling match. But he never voiced the hope.

Never tell a foe your plans.

Snatching his bow and arrows, he followed Father, ducking to exit Mother’s tent.

Six steps from the tent, Father muttered, I’m equally worried. I can only hope the soldiers didn’t threaten Tsir Andris or his family. Nevertheless they’ll find us soon enough. No doubt those fires were theirs. Levos exhaled a frustrated sigh. "We cannot evade Belaal forever, nor can we defeat the kingdom. But they can destroy us. Therefore I’ll meet their leader face to face and, if need be, bargain with them for the sake of our allied Clans."

Bargain with what, my lord? Respectfully, I mean...

Pledges. Fealty. Whatever they require for the safety of our people. I suspect Belaal requires homage of the same sort as they demand of the Agocii tribes to the south. We’ll—

An approaching clamor halted the lord’s words. Horsemen. Soldiers, perhaps forty, rode up over a nearby ridge, bearing Belaal’s blue and gold banner. Lord Levos motioned Nik back and they watched as the soldiers rode into the encampment, their spears, swords, and shields readied. Recognizing their leader, Nik stifled a grimace. Commander Utthreates, austere and arrogant, had served in Parne as liaison between Belaal and the Eosyth tribes, and his habitual contempt won him no favor among Eosyths.

Utthreates immediately rode toward Father, grim as an executioner. Lord Levos.

When Father nodded in silent greeting, the commander-horseman intoned, By order of Lord-General Siyrsun of Belaal, on authority of our god and king, Bel-Tygeon, do not defy us!

At once Father opened his big hands in compliance, signaling his watching clan members, including his family, to remain still. But he lifted his bearded chin, clearly refusing to bow or show fear. I have no intention of defying you. Let’s talk.

Commander Utthreates glanced from Father to Nikaros and then motioned toward his men. They dismounted from their horses and closed in, aiming their glittering swords and spears.

At Nikaros.

Chapter 2

Eyeing the spears and swords, Nikaros held still, as did his father. Lord Levos began quietly. Utthreates—

But even as Levos spoke, three soldiers grabbed Nik’s arms and weapons, dragging him away. To kill him? Or Father? Father!

Father lunged for him, bellowing at the soldiers. "Stop! You will not—"

Instantly three more soldiers slashed their swords and spears toward Levos in warning arcs. Another dropped a noose over Nik’s head, tightening it around his throat so swiftly that Nik gasped for air. Father halted. His gaze never leaving Nik’s, Lord Levos begged, Utthreates, spare my son! Please! Talk with me. What do Lord-General Siyrsun and your god-king require?

Your pledge of future loyalty, Utthreates intoned. And tributes from each of your clans, to protect hostages whom we will choose. Every word clipped and threatening death, Commander Utthreates added, You Eosyths will bow to Belaal. You will pay us for the safety of those taken. For every future act of treachery, one hostage will die and another will be demanded.

Hostage. Nik stilled. Calmed. He was a hostage. He might survive. And Father’s life would be spared. Acceptable terms. Resisting fear, he nodded, willing Father to see his agreement.

Visibly tense, his words clipped, Lord Levos asked, When will he be returned to us?

When Lord-General Siyrsun and our Bel-Tygeon, Prized of the Heavens, decree his release.

Prized of the Heavens. Nikaros suppressed a scowl. Why was Bel-Tygeon still worshiped as a god, though the Infinite had defeated him at the siege of Parne? And how long would this god-king confine