Chapter 56:
A Thousand Years Ago
Trevus, Giddius, Marcellus and I trek west through the day, straight towards Ephesus. The four of us travel together like two months ago, except instead of being their prisoner, I’m their leader. The three soldiers spread out around me like guards, not to keep me confined, but to watch for threats. This is my venture.
“Girlie, while I am content to accompany your party to Mephia, what does Ephesus harbor that your heart desires?” Marcellus asks.
“We’re headed to a small nameless village to the south of Ephesus,” I say. “Lord Asarus is already there, and I need to see him.”
I omit the fact that it’s my home village. It’s a sensitive memory.
“
Lord
Asarus? Have you enchanted yet another highborn Versillian?” Giddius asks.
Trevus glances in my direction. So Giddius believes Trevus is
enchanted
? The corner of Trevus’s lip tugs up. Maybe there’s an element of truth to that.
“Lord Asarus is far from a friend, and he’s recruited a militia,” I say. Trevus is armed with his sword, Marcellus with his axe and Giddius with his bow. “I only want to talk, but he may want more.”
Asarus found my home when I was ten. He somehow knew of my existence, and he tracked me down and took away everything. While I don’t desire bloodshed, I’m not going to sit around waiting for him to try rip my life apart a second time. I look to the three large men. This time, I’ll be prepared.
Marcellus tosses his axe up in the air and catches it again. “I shall not miss the battle a second time.”
For a decade, I fought alone in that tower. There was no one to help me, no one to protect me, no one to stand at my side. Now Trevus, Marcellus and Giddius, the men I once considered my adversaries, have put their strength behind mine – something I wouldn’t have believed possible the day they boxed me in on the bench at the tavern in Antiock.
“We shall reach the settlement tomorrow,” Trevus says, “but the Ceramayan queen harbors knowledge of our route. She shall not continue to the tripoint empty handed. Expect her footmen to arrive not long after we do.”
The queen was planning to meet King Tytius and the Mephia Council of Six at the tripoint to bargain with our lives. She can’t do that without us.
As we walk, the desert of northern Ceramaya grows greener and greener. Instead of dry orange dirt under our boots, we now step shin-deep in long grass and bolver weeds.
We climb down a deep valley and hop over the thin stream at the bottom.
“The water marks the border,” Trevus says. “We are once again in your homeland.”
We’re back in Mephia.
The sun has set, so the four of us find a hip-height pit and settle down. Sitting conceals us from the outside – necessary in case the queen’s army passes by.
Trevus and I huddle together. Marcellus is seated by a boulder, his hands shaping a stone with the chisel – perhaps the start of another statuette of Nomier. Giddius peers over the edge, keeping watch. He’s always worried over who we might encounter on the road.
I wrap my bare arms around my frame. Even with the pit to block the wind, the chilly evening air leaves my skin covered in goosebumps. “I’m guessing a warm fire is too risky?” I ask.
“Indeed.” Trevus pulls a blanket out the bag and wraps it around my shoulders, hooking it under my collar. “Are you prepared for your encounter tomorrow?”
I’ve thought about what to say to Asarus – why did you abduct me as a child? Why do you
still
hunt me to this day? But what possible answer could make any of what happened okay? I shake my head, casting my gaze to the side.
The saddle bag catches my attention. I reach over and pick out the old book we found left sprawled open on Asarus’s desk. He tore out the last three pages before taking off. The reason he pursued me must be somewhere in this text, but the old tongue’s words might as well be meaningless.
I scroll through the pages, reaching the torn-out section and the unsettling sketch of Nomier and the crooked figures at her feet.
Nomier
.
“Marcellus,” I call. He looks up from his stone. “You’re a devout follower of Nomier?”
“When one toys with mortality in battle as I do, Nomier’s divine blessing is a necessity,” he says.
“Have you read Nomier’s sacred texts in the temples? The ones written in old tongue?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” Marcellus says. “Devotion to Nomier is not a trivial affair.”
I rush to sit beside him at the boulder, snapping the book open to the first page. “Can you read this?”
Marcellus takes the book from my hands, raising it up to see with the moonlight. “‘Tis not the same old tongue of Nomier’s sacred texts.”
“Oh.” My heart sinks. “So you can’t read it either?”
“I can.”
“You can? What does it say?” I’ve spent hours staring at those pages, trying to understand.
“The script partially resembles the sacred text of greatest age,” Marcellus says. “However, some words are beyond my recognition.”
“The sacred text of greatest age is of eight-hundred years,” Trevus says.
“This book is eight-hundred years old?” My eyes widen. I should’ve been more careful with it.
“No,” Marcellus says. “If it were eight hundred, this old tongue would match the sacred texts. This must be of even greater age.”
Older? A thousand years? That can’t be right. “Wouldn’t it have turned to dust?”
“The parchment on which the author wrote has long since perished,” Trevus says. “Scholars wrote duplicates before then.”
“This duplicate appears faithful to the original,” Marcellus says. “It retains long antiquated words. Even the glyphs bear unfamiliar serifs.”
“What does it say?” I ask.
Marcellus scans the first page. “It details the reign of a kingdom, the Mar-gor-as.” He breaks the name into syllables, having never heard the word.
I look to Trevus and Giddius.
“I’m not familiar with such a nation,” Trevus says. Giddius indicates the same.
“It speaks of chariots, sibling kings and trade routes spanning vast deserts,” Marcellus says.
“The desert of Ceramaya is only a ten-day journey from shore to greenery,” Giddius says. “It must speak of a different land.”
“A millennium is a long time,” I say. What’s covered in lush vegetation now could have been a desert all those years ago.
Marcellus turns the page. “A lineage. None of the names are recognizable.” He turns another page. “This details the relationships of the highborn family of Morvone, rulers of Margoras.”
“Like House Morvain?” I ask.
Morvone
sounds similar to Morvain, the house of Lord Reger. Could he really trace his lineage back to people mentioned in such an old book?
“The spelling suggests not,” Marcellus says.
The book is thick, covering the history of a large area with many people. Asarus ripped out the relevant pages at the end, but the ones just preceding them may hold some clues.
I reach over and turn the book right to the end, stopping a few pages short of the sketch of Nomier with her shadowed eyes. “This should be the important part,” I say.
Marcellus brings the book closer, straining to read it under the dim moonlight. “It speaks of another kingdom. Ver-sil.”
“Versillia?” I ask.
“No. Versil.” Marcellus’s eyes don’t leave the page. “It speaks of Nomier.”
His brows furrow. He snaps the book closed and drops it on my lap. “These are fallacious records. You should dispose of them.”
“What?” His demeanor changed so suddenly. “What did it say?”
“’Tis sacrilege. Humoring such text further shall only bring misfortune.”
“I don’t understand. What could be so terrible that we abandon the book?” I ask.
“I shall only say it once.” He leans in to whisper. “The text claims Nomier tormented men, and that she walked among us, upon our plane.”
He straightens up and speaks aloud. “‘Tis preposterous. Nomier cast the land on which we tread. How can a painter walk within their own painting? The priests have long since disproven such a proposition.”
Maybe the priests of Versillia confused a demon for a deity. Versillian statues and this sketch depict her with a diamond-tipped staff – a weapon. King Tytius wanted to cut off my head with the blade blessed by Nomier. That seems like something only a demon would bless.
Marcellus stands and steps out of the pit’s depression.
I follow after him, the book in hand. “This belonged to Lord Asarus. It’ll explain the reason behind everything he does.”
Marcellus keeps walking. “You shall have your revenge for whatever wrong he has committed against you. Of what does it matter what is within his head when soon my axe shall split it in two?”
I hurry beside him. “I don’t want revenge. I don’t want him dead. I just want to understand why he came after me.”
“Half of Versillia pursues you. Of what significance is one man?”
I stop. “He took me.”
Marcellus stops. His eyes turn in my direction.
Trevus and Giddius watch from the pit.
“Before King Tytius. Before Antiock. He took me.”
I was a child. I didn’t know what Versillia was. I didn’t know what the inside of a cell looked like. I didn’t know that people could hate you for where you were born. Life as an orphan wasn’t perfect in the village. But it was still
my life
. It was precious, and he took it all away.
Marcellus is quiet.
“I just want to know why,” I say.
Marcellus rests his hand on my shoulder. “I shall read it to you.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
We both head back to the depression. Trevus and Giddius nudge out of our way. Marcellus returns to his old spot against the boulder, and I sit beside him.
I hand him the book, and he opens it to the page he left off.
“Versil marishe ahar shama selha Niktr lusha amlor sha,” Marcellus reads the old tongue aloud, then provides the translation. “Versil’s borders were ever shifting. They were set a distance defined by Nomier’s torment.”
Borders defined by her torment? That doesn’t make sense, but I wait for him to read further.
“Ekt Niktr ulas maras sha sofar neshe gorcta sha Versil,” Marcellus reads. Old tongue spoken aloud leaves an uneasy feeling in the air. It sounds like the language of the dead. Marcellus translates – “As Nomier stepped across the land, her reach crept on, and so did the land of Versil.”
“So an entire country moved?” I ask.
“Versil may not be a country,” Trevus says. “‘Tis the name of the area under her influence.”
Marcellus continues reading aloud. He begins with the old tongue each time, then provides the translation. “Red satin carpet padded Nomier’s every step. Her grand empire was akin to no other, stretching from sea to sea. No nation would dare oppose Versil. Men and women of all kind fled as Versil’s border approached. Settlements such as Novshar, Malanash and Shasvir were left abandoned.”
Trevus and Giddius lean in. Marcellus continues translating. “The moving border of Versil was invisible to the eye, but immediately sensed by those unfortunate enough to cross the threshold.
“In the three-hundredth year, the village of Hasthea was not warned. Nomier walked north day by day. The minds of Hasthea were soon within Nomier’s reach, and they fell under Versil. She commanded their bodies to walk the month-long journey towards her. Without meal or drink, all died on the path.”
So Nomier had sorcery of her own. Commanding physical movement is like the connection of Marco the Third of Six, though he could only control those who consented, and the reach of his connection was no more than a hundred steps. Nomier controlled unwilling bodies a month’s walk from where she stood. A connection that extends a thirty-day walk in every direction would cover an entire country. Then she made those people walk until they collapsed. She was evil.
“Nomier enjoyed great opulence, for the thousands caught in Versil would not disobey, lest agony be cast upon their minds. Nomier ruled an empire of slaves,” Marcellus translates.
“Many men attempted to flee from her influence, but upon approaching the borders of Versil, Nomier would reach into their minds and cast them into suffering. While their bodies remained uninjured, the immense pain would turn nearly all back. One man, Alashar of Malanash, testified that he overcame the pain and escaped Versil. He described crossing the border feeling akin to having one’s limbs torn free.”
Nomier held a reversed, sickening variation of Ametha the Fifth’s connection. Ametha suppressed the pain felt by injured soldiers at Nepolis, though she couldn’t heal their bodies.
“A man dwelled within Versil, U-cal-las,” Marcellus pauses at each syllable. “Ucallas refused to provide the full gold tribute Nomier demanded, keeping a portion instead to feed his family through winter. Upon returning to his domain, Ucallas discovered two winged demons in his home. The demons let out grotesque screams as Ucallas cut them down with his axe. Nomier reached into his mind and cleared the hallucination she had cast upon him, revealing that his wife and daughter lay bloody and dying at his feet, cut down by the axe he held in his hand.”
My stomach twists. Nomier cast an illusion over Ucallas’s eyes, making his own family appear as something else – like the illusion that Evelyn the Forth could conjure, the same illusion that allowed me to infiltrate the palace in Lystra.
Marcellus shakes his head in disbelief, but he continues to translate. “As Versil reached further into Margoras, five hundred chariots charged to destroy Nomier. As their steeds crossed into Nomier’s reach, she brought a great fear upon them, causing their horses to flee and men to scatter. Versil stood immune to outside influence.
“Those within Versil lived in servitude. Anyone foolish enough to challenge Nomier received harsh punishment. A handmaid of Nomier, Esress, plotted her death. Esress had not even acquired the weapon before Nomier read her intention. Esress, and anyone else who imagined hostility towards Nomier, was brought before her white throne. Nomier reached into her mind, making each minute feel the length of an hour. Esress stood unmoving, no longer able to control her limbs. Three days passed, and her body fell to lack of drink, but her mind suffered for months.”
Nomier was worse than any man I have ever known. She truly was a tormentor.
“Nomier wished to gain control over the Salther highborn. Prince Harshor and his beloved, Princess Nolcth, were set to inherit the crown. The prince was cautious, remaining free of Nomier’s grasp. In the fifty-seventh year, Princess Nolcth was captured and brought to Versil. Nomier set her in a deep slumber, then returned her to Salther. No physician could raise the princess from her slumber, and her body grew frail by the day.
“Prince Harshor headed to Versil. He crossed the border with Princess Nolcth in his arms, carrying her to the white throne. There, Nomier stopped his heart. After the prince had passed, Nomier allowed the princess to wake. Though stricken with grief, she was set to work without a moment to morn, as was the fate for all in Versil.”
My hands ball into tight fists. It was a thousand years ago. It had nothing to do with me. My stomach is twisted so tight I feel sick.
“Jade,” Trevus says. His voice is gentle. I must look distressed. “You hear the words of the author, but you do not know his intent. Propaganda was as common then as it is now.”
I nod. This could be a tale written by someone with an agenda.
“‘Tis a false text,” Marcellus says. “Every scholar of Nomier would agree.”
He turns the book closed, but I catch it with my hand. “Read the rest. Please.”
Marcellus returns to the page, reading each sentence in old tongue and then translating. “On the three-hundred-and-twentieth year, three monks entered Versil. Through a decade of meditation, they practiced clearing their minds, separating action from thought. They approached Nomier, minds clear and intensions undecipherable. The monks carried a marvelous sword – the Blade of Julia, forged from black volcanic crystal and capable of only a single cut. They struck Nomier with surprise, severing her head from her shoulders.”
Nomier has long since passed. Now all that’s left of her is statues and misguided legends. She has no power. I have nothing to do with her.
Marcellus reads the next piece of old tongue. “Sha haruas Niktr molitas yashrier morga Niktr. Movaya sha – ameh ameir oreshral.”
That last phrase – ‘ameh ameir oreshral’. I’ve heard it before, but I can’t recall where.
Marcellus translates. “In her last moment, she reached out across Versil. All heard her final words – I refuse.” He closes the book.
“Wait, what happens next?” I ask.
“That is the concluding statement.” Marcellus returns the book.
I open it to the end. Asarus tore out the last three pages. They were so important that he took them with him. He’s obsessed with this text. He’s obsessed with Nomier, and because my connection resembles a small fraction of Nomier’s sorcery, his obsession extends to me.
“Jade.” Trevus’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “We best rest.”
I nudge over to him. He’s prepared a large sleeping pouch for the two of us. I slip inside, and he does the same.
Giddius climbs into his own pouch, but Marcellus stays up on watch.
Trevus wraps an arm around my middle, drawing my body close to his.
Sorcerers have existed for ages, long enough that Mephia was named after the people who followed them. Perhaps those last pages spoke of seven individual sorcerers, and that’s how Asarus knew of my existence before anyone else.
“You need not harbor worry over that text,” Marcellus says.
“You’re confident it’s fabricated?” I ask.
Marcellus’s gaze doesn’t leave the dark plains. “Nomier is not a sorceress. She is a goddess.”
exactly!
So Nomier refused death and split her powers in 7 others. 6 becoming the sorcerers and Jade holds her strongest power. Asarus fears them and went searching for Jade because of what was in those last 3 pages. He fears her revival and didn’t want the 7th to be found by the 6 likely cuz she vowed to return and gathering them all will cause her to come back?
So Nomier’s blade is not her blade but the blade used to kill her.
Asarus must have gone looking for her because he believed Nomier or her power via a descendant walked the earth once more. He’s terrified of Nomier and maybe even has ancestry that had a hand in turning her power/being mortal. He’s afraid Jade is going to come after him for it.
Jade is the descendant of Nomier! Or she is Nomier reborn in human flesh after whatever happened in those last 3 pages. That’s why he’s afraid of her and wanted her locked up.
All he can do is try and deny it as lies to cope… it’s really gonna hit when it hits!
And someone so evil…
@rileysing oh for sure, she hates the idea of her power being associated with cruelty. which us why she resists using it as much as possible.
Oh like Julite
Baby, no, no she wasn’t
He took what made you deary
We got the big power!!
So she a big bad big bad, with all the powers
Those powers, aren’t they familiar my dear Jade
Love you besty
I will kill him for such sacrilege
He don’t like the idea they idealised a real person
My poor boys entire religious belief is being put into trial
Is ancient ancient
Yes besty!!!
Because you’re more important than you believe girly
Besties!
Best boy is so polite
*goddess
With the power she welded she might as well have been a God, even if she walked among mortals
The power split after she died to several individuals
Oh shit does Asarus hope to bring back Nomier by doing something involving the seven… can’t think what or how though
Also damn that’s some skill to be able to outright avoid her power
I wonder if those kinds of things are more widely taught (perhaps not intentionally) and that’s why consent is more important now days to use powers
Wait how long did Nomier live?
Nomier is horrible… how could she do something like that
Now we have Jades power mentioned…
Thirst is one of the quickest things to kill to be fair… she wouldn’t have survived more then a few days depending on what the environment was like
This is hard to read… I knew she was cruel but this is horrifying
What the fuck????
So Nomier has the power of the other 6? So maybe then the power got spilt between different souls somehow and now we have the 7?
Or maybe all sorcerors are capable of that if they really desire it but they don’t since they know pushing their power too far would turn people against them… Or at least that it would be cruel.
The 6 lead Mephia under their agreement afterall and only use said power with consent too
Yeah that’s horrible
But I’m assuming she was still mortal and so her death led to the people being freed, and the creation of Versillia
Yes she was evil… and to think Versillian culture worships her and seeks her blessing
No wonder their culture is so harsh and hating of sorcery, they have a history of being mistreated by it. I’m sure even the Mephians would grow to hate the sorcerors if they experienced something like that
That’s horrifying… what’s the point of calling them to her if they just died
If they were conscious then it’s even worse they couldn’t do anything to keep themselves alive
They could sense her power of them… her ability to control them if she got close enough
Was she constantly burning rahlite or something
An area under someone’s control can still be a country
Nomier sounds very powerful though… being able to turn a whole region of people into what amounts to a mega organism that can crawl across the land
Technically if one one actively speaks the language in day to day use it is the language of the dead
Thats an intriguingly idea that borders are defined by a person torment….
Is it due to her struggling to keep control and people being able to break off at various times then her taking back control, or forcing other areas under her reign
He’s a kind man to put aside such intense feelings on finding contradictions to something so important to his life to help her understand something so key to hers
Aka “how dare the man carry such a horrendous text, I shall punish him with death for it” lol
There is always a form of truth in fiction… the person is the source of the myth
I knew it, I knew she must have been real and auctually existed
Oh wow, he really isn’t happy aye
The newer texts have glossed over parts of his beloved goddess
What does it say!!!!
It kinda pisses me off he ripped the pages out now I know how old the book is.
How dare he desecrate such a secret and historically valuable text.
As a history lover I am APPALED!
Wow that’s so cool if he could