Prologue

Everyone was waiting for Maegy to enter. Lucius sat there too, with an army of youngsters, in a great stone hall. Flames were dancing on top of the pillars and with the light coming in from the arcade porch, the hall glowed goldenly. The hall belonged to Al-Dalyon, the fortress of Cadaredia. Enormous shadows of the cathedrals surrounding the fortress descended onto its battlements as the titans from the west.

White and golden was Cadaredia this morning—the color of light and fire. Crimson beams of the rising sun, glinting on the temple domes, were entwined as a golden crown around the city of white stone. The place of questions and answers, of fear and beauty, of mystics and mages, looking like a relic, molded in an era of legends rather than built by mere mortals.

The scarlet smokes of the dawn enveloped the fires burning on the sacrificial altars and, meandering high above the roofs like the steam off the vast cauldrons. Mirage reflected the vague contours of the streets beyond the horizon, slashing the city of white castles like the chest of an elderly warrior. The grandeur of the city of monasteries was so magnificent, no one could make a sound. Glancing at this marvelous view, Lucius with other recruits couldn't help himself be amazed.

"I think he is coming," whispered the girl sitting next to him. Indeed, some strange feeling that gradually grew made Lucius aware of someone majestic and other-worldly was approaching.

The gate cracked open, and a man clad in a crimson cloak entered the dimly lit hall. While walking he didn't even look at the newcomers, walked lightly contemplating, a cloak fluttering over his shoulders.

His steps, echoing mysteriously in the hall, kept the newcomers silent. He was shrouded in the smoke and the flames dazzling on the pillar tops danced together with his footsteps. The red fabric looked as if it was braided around his thin body.

"Welcome!" - he announced. The calmness blended into the firmness of his voice, made him sound strangely sharp.

"I welcome you, of all villages, cities, and towns, of suns and moons, of stars. Those who know magic and those who do not. You who abandoned hope and peace, and you who found it."

"This Temple of Belial is the place where you first perceive the world of magic, the magic of Belial".

Lai Zhu

Lai looked up. Soon the sun would set beyond the horizon. She needed to reach the peak before sunset, wanted to see the city today. She had already spent several months crawling on the red cliffs for this.

Lai missed the ocean, longing to see her. She would give everything to be there. Riding waves on the dolphin's back, watching the slow-motion of the wave peeling along the reef, before pitching forward to explode in a foaming mass of white happiness. She missed the sense of exhausted excitement, the feeling of pushing limits further than ever before, and experiencing something that only a few people ever will. This was what Lai loved the summer islands for.

"The world is the chest of magnificence, never forget this!" - Naji's words were helping her to gain strength. After so long.

Lai did not know if it was her actual name, nor could she remember her face, just knew she was graceful, like light itself, warm and bright.

There was little left before the peak. She put her hand on the reddish stone and felt its firmness with ellryne, jumped short, and started climbing. The rock was steep and difficult to climb, but she overcame more difficulties on her way here. The sun was half-set when Lai reached the top. Canyons and clouds were all around, and beneath unfolded the silhouette of a city where mages lived.

The world was reddish from here. The color of the distant Cadaredia merged with the redness of the rocks. She put down the bow and traveler bag. Pulled out flasks of oil and dyes. The paint faded on the weapon. The color of ash was coming back. Old colors of ancient wood. She could use it as a staff in a fight. Lai practiced such arts for years.

"No one should see the actual color of the weapon," - elders warned her.

She mixed the oil with the plant extracts and start dyeing. When finished, the bow had a color of brownish honey. It would last at least a month.

She placed the weapon on the cloth and prayed. The night had descended for a good while when she finished. Now only body paint was remaining. Lai would not take a break before reaching Cadaredia. She wanted to reach the Temple of the Sun the next night. Every second was of importance. Who knew where "it" was now.

The ancestral wigwam was empty. Of the siblings, only Lai remained here, Lai and the old maid. They never thought of her as a full-fledged member of the family, it seemed, in everything ...

The moon was no longer visible in the shadow of the cliffs. The painted body attracted to dust added purple color to the plant juice. Lai followed the winding paths along with the giant stones, occasionally overlooking the cliffs. Black pits looked like a bottomless abyss. Only the screeching of the night owl disturbed the tranquility of the canyon.

Lai had strong knees, but everyone would get tired after such a long journey. She had already covered so much distance that would arrive at Cadaredia on the first night, but she could not stop. The city of mages was alluring for her as if magic was throbbing and summoning Lai; - "Come, approach me, come ..."

The tree growing from the middle fire of the black wigwam was like that too, as if it was throbbing with magic—ash-colored magic...

Something went over Lai's head and she recognized a goat jumping from rock to rock. The goat was harmless, but if it escaped the predator, that would be dangerous.

Lai removed the bow and clasped the rock. Her left hand touched the barrel of the weapon, right felt the surface of the stone, and Lai sank into ellryne. Somewhere near was a beast. It nuzzled human scent and refused to go to the goat because of the appearance of easy prey. Lai dashed over the rock and plunged into the abyss. Reached for the edge of the chosen rock, and climbed. She wanted an open place to wait for a predator there. Holding the bow with her teeth, Lai climbed on top of a rock and looked around. The boulders looked from above, the silver-plated stones in the moonlight and the mystery of the canyon ...

Silvery mane silhouetted from the darkness, the beast's eyes illuminated yellow. It was the king of this place; the locals called it the king of twilight.

The lion roared and headed for the prey. Lai touched the tree with the left hand and sensed ashen while breathing ... She felt a slash on his palm and the blood revived the bow. The world was no longer the same. Life changed colors and exploded into the yellowish ocean in the beats of Cadaredia.

The arrow born in the bow flew to the beast, jumping from the cliff... One arrow - all it took to kill the predator, and this one-shot took most of the remaining energy from her. Lai was lying in front of the dead lion, looking at the sky. She could do nothing more. A cloth wrapped around his hand was drenched in blood. She felt the hungry vibration from the weapon and could not dare to touch it again. This bow was a cursed thing. She knew it from the beginning, but...

Slowly Lai gathered her strength and stood up, took the bow with the right hand, could not touch the bloodied one.

She looked at Cadaredia, and suddenly the color of ash took over her as if it was squirming, reaching into the depths of her soul and ...

"No!" - she gritted her teeth and somehow stopped the fateful feeling.

Trembling, she looked at the bow. There was no blood on the surface. Wood took everything. She followed the path like a drunk.

The sun looked down onto the city, and so did Lai.

The morning was here. Smoke rising from the stone walls and noon canyon, fire on the roofs and glowing temples ... Lai felt the color of the sun...

Leaning on the bow, she could barely restrain herself. It was a bit late, though she would still reach the temple on the very first night. Now she should paint the ashen wood again. She took out the remaining dyes from the bag and carefully began. She felt the menacing wood with her fingers...

Chapter I

Two Years Earlier

It was raining. The chill had consumed his entire body so deeply and painfully that it seemed to be impossible to feel any other pain; But pebbles stabbing through his old, torn, and worn shoe soles, reminding about themselves at every step he made. The hardest and most unbearable pain was yet an unfamiliar one that had settled in him, something too massive and stagnant, but so fragmented and fractioned, that it reached every organ, every cell of his body, burning them from inside. It had not only reached every cell in his body but every minor part of that mysterious thing that Rahail's priest in Lucius' village referred to as the soul.

The ashen sky was hiding the Sun as if it did not exist. It seemed as the world was doubtful in the dawn. The thicket forest trail followed the murky horizon through the hills and looked like a mirage of endlessness. For him, something was relaxing and calming about this endlessness...

The commander was wearing crimson armor. One could see his chestnut eyes from the open helmet. He was sitting in the armchair, sipping wine from a red, gilded chalice. Perhaps his eyes seemed brownish because of the fire, and so it remained in his memory.

Lucius had no memory of what happened before the moment, he and his little sister were abandoned in the forest. Before that, he could only recall some noise and frozen, blurred flashbacks. He remembered that gaze seen in the mirror, reflecting sun spells in differently colored eyes. - The one he glimpsed before going into the tavern, or even after having been dragged from there...- there was something icy in that look which had become part of those indelible scenes...

The commander smelled of violets drowning in the wine. Lucius remembered the overwhelming, intoxicating fragrance of violets and wine from the day the commander visited him, with his hands bandaged, when he was injured.

In the far distance scattered bracken-type plants could be seen, swaying with every blow of the wind. They reminded Lucius of himself. Like those plants, he also swayed in the wind, but God knows why he did not fall yet and continued on his way.

The winter was about to end without a single snowflake. Amongst other things, Lucius thought about this while walking on the stones and wondering why he bothered himself thinking of the snowless winter at that such a hard time...

Together with the noise, he was making, the patter of raindrops had quietened down, whereas the wind's whistling stood out amongst the other sounds around him. These sounds were like the roar of the dammed-up sea, of the sea he had never seen in his life but that he had imagined always when his father told him stories about his sails...

Two years before the storm had destroyed a three-sail frigate near Mondelay, together with the exotic plants that should have been brought to Lucius...

"The Red Widow"- what a peculiar name for the ship which had sunk together with his Dad...

This story seemed weirdly trivial now. The time when he was so worried about it seemed so distant and far away, like the time when he could be worried about something.

Space hopelessly waned with each blink of his heavy eyelids and then some vehement force brought the world, lost in the twilight, back to him. The hills gradually faded away with the countless steps and the hilly landscape gave way to the flat valley. The place, once a forest, was turned into the graveyard of the cut-down trees. No matter where Lucius looked, he could only see the cut-down trees, logs, and destroyed dead plants. He could see people leading the wood-carrying oxcarts loaded with wood. The symbols of daily life, of the rotten routine, that started as if nothing had happened and endlessly repeated itself.

It was too difficult to save the wounded man, as the arrow had reached his lungs. The torn silver armor was flickering under the sunlight, escaping through the window. The red-drenched cloth was blood-caked. Lucius still remembered clotted blood odor - sweet and heavy, that he had rarely felt before.

He stood on the top of the downhill. "do not worry!" he heard his voice. Was he talking to Laili? He was surprised that he could speak at all and, having made the first steps up the hill, he rolled down the slope...

The wounded man was way too young, he didn't even have a beard but only tender fuzz was visible on his face. Blood loss had taken away the color from the ashen-gray face. The mother's frowning face indicated things were not good. His comrades standing around his bed as if grown into the silent oak walls, unable to utter a word themselves.

The color of the ceiling and smell of the wool came to Lucius together. He tried to sit on the bed but, not finding enough strength, he fell back again.

"Don't fidget," said the hoarse voice.

"Where am I?" asked him instinctively.

"In my hut", answered the unfamiliar voice. "Drink this." the stranger was holding a glass.

Without thinking, Lucius took the glass and drank the medicine in one gulp, just like his mother had taught him in his childhood. The warmth spread down in his stomach, driving out the cold, the cold that Lucius thought of as an inseparable part of his body. The chill and the pain may have left his body, but there was something remnant, lying under the woolen blanket, that would never leave his soul. Something permanent that was immovable and so huge that it almost made Lucius cry. If he could, he would definitely cry, but he had realized in the village that he could not. If he had not cried when he was being dragged from the tavern, he could never cry again...

"Where is Laili?"

"In the bed next to you. She is well... You will be too".

"Well...", this weird wheezing sound made Lucius realize he giggled...

"I am sorry." one could see the tears in the wounded person's eyes, which made him look sincere. "I am sorry that I cannot stop him. You don't know who he is".

"It's not your fault",- said Lucius wiping off the blood with a white cloth; with the cloth that he had washed for the wounded warrior the night before, but now he was using it for himself...

Waking up, he found the room empty; or rather, the stranger was nowhere to be seen. Laili was still lying on her bed and her calm and peaceful breathing blended perfectly well with the shadowy colors of the room.

Everything was reeking of wood and smoke; the burned aroma was spreading all over the room through the roaring fireplace. Leather pieces were hanging on the wall, gray and furry. - supposedly of a wolf, Lucius could not tell in the dusk.

A table, high chairs, and a cupboard made the only room in the hut look furnished and reminded him of his old house; there were no animal furs in his home though. Mum and Dad were not fond of furry things. The old house was filled with books- books and herbs and with the blood and superstitions of the patients who, as soon as they left the premises, spread stories about the mysterious soothsayers...

The village was always strange to Lucius, as he himself was probably to the villagers...

Suddenly the door opened and the man blowing into his hands stepped in. As soon as he talking, Lucius recognized the hoarse voice.

"You are awake," said the elderly man walking toward the fireplace. He was tall, a little stooped with age, but one could still call him well-built. Although he was almost bald, there were silver patches of the remaining hair on his head, and his long beard was unkempt and tousled.

"You must be hungry", the man said, warming his hands on the fire; after several minutes he added:

"Come on, wash your hands" and with these words, he moved towards the door.

The well water Lucius washed his hands with was icy cold. The man had brought out a piece of rough cloth to dry his hands.

As they stepped back into the hut, the man seated Lucius at the table, fetched meat and bread from the cupboard for him, together with a jug full of wine. The very first bite made Lucius realize how hungry he was. At the same time, he was surprised that life went on as if nothing had happened. Strangely, the world moved on and even forgot everything, as if all that had happened was just a child's dream.

"Have some wine; will strengthen you." the man filled the glasses. Lucius had never tasted wine before and he found it quite sour. Did the commander feel the same while sitting in the armchair? He looked at the half-empty glass through the light shedding from the window; the wine was white; the commander drank red.

The old man was telling some funny stories while he was eating his food, probably trying to cheer him up. Although he tried once, Lucius could not smile, which discouraged the old man to continue.

Lucius felt tipsy from wine. He had stopped eating, but he kept on drinking wine. The wine had affected the old man as well.

"What has happened to you?" he asked after finishing one of his stories.

The man had honey-colored eyes; Lucius felt the warmth pouring out of the eyes of his host when he was looking down at him...

"I cannot talk about it now," Lucius heard his voice. "Oh, it's okay," said the host. The man's voice was warm, too. It was strange that Lucius had not noticed that before.

"My sons found you and your sister at the end of the slope. You must have fallen. We are the woodchoppers and work for Lord Bryan. We are shipping the logs for Mondelay tomorrow and I will tell the guys to take you there, if you don't mind it, of course."

Lucius nodded quietly and looked up at the spot on the wall.

"How old are you, kid?" he heard the question. "Twelve", he answered. The slight slumber brought about by the wine and the dark colors of the room made Lucius doze off.