Rising from Dust (Light from Aphelion Book 1) Read online

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  Rising from Dust

  Light from Aphelion - Book 1

  Copyright © Martine Carlsson 2016

  Cover and layout: Nellie C. Lind

  Publisher: Sense of Romance

  First edition

  ISBN: 978-91-982123-9-6

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This book may not be reproduced or shared in any way without the author's written permission. The book is a work of fiction. Part from one character, the other characters, names, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination.

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  War is raging in the kingdom of Trevalden. Up north in the Frozen Mountains, the amnesic hermit Selen survives as the pariah in his community. Drawn by a mysterious call, he travels to Trevalden and meets Louis, an enigmatic archivist. Together, as Selen remembers his past, they face the desolation of war with a group of misfits. For the sake of the people, they fight back the king’s armies, prepared to meet death…or a new dawn. As Selen and Louis understand that their feelings for each other may be their undoing, they are torn between their emotions and the greater good. But in the end, what is the greater good?

  While they try to find their place in an unknown world, they carry a secret that will shatter the society and make them realize that the hardest fights are not against dragons but within oneself.

  Rising from Dust is an epic journey where gritty fantasy and history cross paths. A graphic story of loyalty, violence, magic, court plots, and unwavering love where no one is what they seem.

  PROLOGUE

  ”Does anybody hear me?”

  The trees loomed over him, dark, and tall. A chilly wind blew through their brown leaves. Between the branches, the sky was grey, nearly white. His bare feet ran through the dead leaves, sinking into the spongy ground. His heart hammered in his chest. Brambles gashed the side of his legs. Dried boughs of pine trees brushed through his long hair. Selen climbed over logs, hurting his toes on rocks. He didn’t know if something chased him, but he ran nonetheless. Flee. It had been his first thought. He glanced at the forest around him. Mossy boulders. Giant ferns. Thickets. What kind of nature was this?

  “Ow!” Something had cut his sole. Selen stumbled and fell. The small stones and wooden sticks hidden in the soil peeled his white, naked body that was already crusted in mud. The earth, cool and wet, sucked out his energy. His arms clenched around his chest. He shivered. His teeth shook.

  “Where am I? Please, anyone?” Selen whispered with a sob.

  He felt the urge to dig in the ground and bury himself in it. Yet, he could not. With such a wind, he would freeze to death. Selen dragged himself up and kept on running.

  A structure appeared through the branches. Leaning against a trunk, Selen observed the house. Such a small place must belong to a shepherd or a hermit, he thought, if it is occupied. There was no light, no smoke from the chimney, and no animals in the yard. Covering his intimacy, he walked towards the door. Would someone even answer? Considering how frightful he looked and his nudity, he wasn’t even sure if he would open to himself. He glanced behind him at the dark woods. It scared him to think he might have to walk back to the forest. Why had he woken up there? He knocked and waited. Nothing. Selen tried the doorknob. The old wooden door squeaked.

  “Hello?”

  The room was empty of life. Selen stepped inside. He traced a finger on the rustic table, creating a hill of dirt. He looked around. Plenty of jars and pots stood on the shelves. Was this witchcraft? Carefully, he approached one shelf and pulled out a book. In it, he saw pages that were filled with drawings of leaves and roots.

  “Herbalism.”

  He shut the book in a cloud of dust and progressed with his investigation. The hearth was cold, as was the whole shack.

  “No one has lived here for a while,” he sighed.

  He knew it also meant no food. Therefore, he couldn’t stay here. He searched the jars and found alcohol. Selen sat down by the table and bent his leg. The transparent liquid burned his foot, cleaning the fresh wound. His face twitched with pain. Limping, he moved towards the trunk near the bed. It was filled with clothes. They were moth-eaten, brown rags, but it was better than nothing. He chose a brown tunic and pants that didn’t look too damaged. With a white cloth, he dressed his wound. Even with a bandage, it was torture to put the old boots on. Once dressed, he sat on the bed.

  How had he ended up here? What was this place? He tried to remember the day before. Or the week before. In vain. Nothing came to him, not even the glimpse of a familiar place. He felt panic overtake him. His heart raced. His breathing hastened. This wouldn’t help. Selen tried to reason. He had clothes and a roof. What he needed now was food. Maybe there were other houses nearby.

  He went back outside. In front of the shack, grit and mud formed what looked like a trail. Maybe it led to a village. Selen followed it. He still had no idea where he was.

  The forest opened into a valley. In the middle of it stood a charming, little village with red houses. Surprisingly, all were made of wood. As Selen approached the first habitations, he saw an old couple coming his way. Both of them were wrapped up in warm coats. The woman had a headdress and carried a basket. At least they looked like him; he couldn’t be too far away from home. Selen smiled at them.

  “Hello! Would you…”

  The old man gave him a black look, pushed the woman inside a house, and closed the door behind them. What a peculiar couple, Selen thought. He progressed through the street. There were carved, wooden signs fixed on some of the front walls, indicating shops. Selen heard the ting-a-ling of a bell. A blond woman in a woolen cloak stepped out of the nearest shop. He approached her.

  “Excuse me, I…”

  She shrieked and raised her arms in protection. Selen raised his hand to calm her, but she stepped back.

  “Leave me alone!” she yelled.

  She spoke his language.

  “Go away, you monster!” a man shouted from the other side of the street.

  Selen was puzzled. He was no monster. He had mud on him and his hair was a mess, but his face was clean. Why would no one talk to him? If they spoke the same language, how was it that he didn’t recognize anything of this place? He felt lost and perturbed. All he wanted was an explanation. He heard noises coming from a house. He stepped forward. It was music. The house was probably a tavern. A bad feeling crept inside him. Yet, if he wanted answers, a tavern would be the best place to go to.

  Carefully, he opened the door. The warmth from the interior felt like bliss on his frozen body. He stepped inside. The smell of beer and bread made his belly rumble. Under the glow of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, benches and tables were aligned in rows. Customers sat here and there, and a bard played in a corner. Selen raised his hand shyly.

  “Hello.”

  The music stopped. The strong, bearded men sitting at the bar turned around. Their glances froze Selen’s blood in his veins. Their disgust couldn’t have been clearer. Selen knew it was too late to run away.

  “What the hell is that?” one of them grunted.

  They rose from their stools and approached him.

  “I got lost and I need some help,” he muttered.

  “It talks like a girl,” the man with the red beard sneered. “Girls should not have pants on. And what’s on your face?”

  A girl? Selen thought, confused. The men were giants. Judging by the strength of
their arms and the nastiness in their eyes, Selen knew nothing good would come out of this. Wherever he was, no words could convince brutes. Waiting for his fate, he stood, petrified, hoping someone would react. Whatever their animosity, he had done nothing to deserve it. One man moved behind him and pulled at his hair.

  “Ow!” Selen exclaimed as his head was tossed backwards.

  “It’s real hair!” the man exclaimed. “Freak. How can it look like this?”

  “But, why…” Selen muttered, massaging his scalp.

  “That’s no girl,” the red beard growled.

  The man behind him grabbed his arms and pulled them backwards, while one of his companions ripped off Selen’s tunic. Selen was terrified and glanced around, but no one reacted. Some men even approved.

  “Seidr,” the red beard mumbled, gazing at his chest. Whispers of alarm rose around him.

  The red beard punched Selen in the chest. The intense pain in his ribs made Selen bend over. He hoped no one would hit his face. One blow from these men and his head would be crushed. He felt pain in his back and fell to the ground.

  “Disgusting ergi!” one man shouted.

  Feet kicked him in his abdomen. Selen cringed as the blows fell on him from all sides. His body burned. Please, don’t let them kill me, he thought. I did nothing wrong.

  “Let’s burn the ergi at the stake!”

  The proposition was welcomed by roars.

  “Stop this nonsense!” a voice shouted.

  The blows stopped. A powerful grip dragged Selen to the side. A blond man with a thick beard looked at him.

  “Who the hell are you?” the man asked, staring at Selen.

  Short of breath, Selen did not reply. He already fought hard not to sob.

  “Don’t bother with that, Rodrick. It’s just an ergi,” one of Selen’s assailants exclaimed. “He didn’t even challenge me to deny it. Look at the color of his hair, look at the marks on his forehead. This witch-harlot is cursed by the spirits.”

  “Or blessed by them,” Rodrick snapped to the brute. “What are you good at?” he asked Selen. Dumbfounded, Selen only gaped. “Your work. What can you do?”

  Selen understood. “Heal. I can heal. I am good with herbs.” He was not sure about it, but if it could save his life, he would give it a try.

  Rodrick turned around. “A physician. Do you think we have enough of them in the village to burn him? The man may be a stranger, but he is useful.”

  “I won’t touch his charms,” the man grunted but calmed down. The man with the red beard spat in Selen’s direction. Rodrick pulled Selen up by the arm. Selen groaned. His head swirled. The blond man took a piece of bread from a table and pushed it into Selen’s hand.

  “Please…” Selen moaned. “Where am I?”

  “Run. Now,” Rodrick said, looking Selen in the eyes.

  Still trembling with fear and pain, Selen staggered out of the tavern. Once outside, the tears ran down his cheeks. His hands clenched around his throbbing chest as he ran away.

  CHAPTER 1

  Winter had been long and dark in the Frozen Mountains. Selen looked at the grey clouds that approached from the north. It was time to go back home before the storm came. A chilly wind already blew through his long hair. A shiver ran through his body. He tugged his woolen cloak closer around him. He had been out all morning, picking some of the first thimbleweeds. He looked down again. With the tips of his fingers, he brushed the snow from the delicate, white flower. He snapped the stem and laid the white star on top of the others in his basket. It would have to be the last one for today.

  He rose and whistled. Above the crown of the pine trees, a familiar shadow showed up. The hawk uttered a piercing screech. Selen raised his hand. The bird flew down towards him. Its flapping wings blasted icy air on Selen’s pale face. Selen’s eyes narrowed. The bird landed on his outstretched arm. Delicately, Selen put the leather chaperon on its head and laced the jess around his wrist. He picked up the basket with the flowers and walked to the trail. With cautious steps between the thick tree roots and slippery stones, he headed back home.

  The shack stood in the middle of a clearing in the forest. The small building had proven comfortable and could be kept warm during winter. He had cleaned the rudimentary furniture. The shelves were still covered with mason jars, clay pots, and books, but the recipients were no longer empty. Last-season plants, which were tied to drying racks, hung from the ceiling. Selen put the basket on the table and started a fire in the hearth. His boots were damp with clotted snow, and his hands and feet felt frozen. When the wood burned, he knelt in front of the fire and let the blaze warm his body. He closed his eyes. He could hear the sheep bleat behind the door. It would soon be time for the first lambs to be born. This year again, he had managed to store enough hay for them to last through winter. He stretched. He could not fall asleep, not now. He had balms to prepare. Selen grabbed some thyme and sage from one of the racks and ground them together.

  He had planned to travel to the village in a few days. There would be peasants and housewives suffering from a cold of some sort. There were no lack of customers during winter. Selen would never forget the incident that had nearly cost him his life four years ago. Beaten and upset, he had returned to the shack and made it his home. To occupy his time, he had read the books on the shelves and noticed that he already knew a bit about herbalism. Progressively, Selen had learned to take care of himself and to live on his own. He had never returned to the tavern. The villagers and he had come to a tacit agreement. He would live in the wilderness, and they would leave him alone. As long as he did not mix with them, some people in the village could even show sympathy for him, especially the ones who needed his help. Selen was the only person around with medical knowledge. He could prepare balms, tinctures, and fix minor wounds. From time to time, he would sell his products at the market to buy the few things he could not make himself. Yet, his services as a physician were barely appreciated. No one had ever come to his shack, and no one ever would. They had despised him from the start. Selen had understood that it was his knowledge and usefulness that kept him alive. Therefore, though he sometimes missed seeing other people's faces, he did not mind loneliness. It was always better than to endure others’ cruelty. His life was basically survival, but he had no other choice.

  Selen took the bowl with the herbs infused in oil and strained the mixture. Greasy drops ran down his wrists. He wiped his hands on a cloth. With skilled moves, he poured the oil into jars. The golden substance turned light green as it cooled down. He mixed melted wax into it. When he was done, he placed the jars on the windowsill. While he put down the last one, he gazed outside. The top of the birches bent in the wind. The sky was grey and heavy. Soon, it would snow again. He could see the shape of the mountains on the horizon, the peaks standing white and tall, like teeth biting the sky. Even the nature around was a display of coldness and solitude. He sighed and felt a spark of pain in his chest. It grew stronger. His heart was burning again. He needed to lie down. He moved to his bed and stretched on it. Selen looked at the wooden beams on the ceiling. He took deep breaths and expired long. The pain calmed down. As he relaxed, he lost himself in thoughts.

  These last weeks, he had not been feeling well. He was constantly nauseous. His sleep was restless, haunted by weird nightmares of monsters and fights. They were always blurry, but they felt so real, so frightening. He often woke up in the middle of the night screaming and panting, the bedsheets damp with sweat. The dreams haunted him during the day, as well. He hoped he was not becoming mad. People living alone in the wilderness often tended to turn a bit strange over the years, and his case was also special.

  He did remember the last four years, but that was all. Nothing had explained why he had woken up naked in the middle of the wilderness. Maybe the nightmares were a reminiscence of his past, but why were they happening now? Had something changed? He had lived the same monotonous life for years now. Maybe it was not related to him. He did not know a thing about
the outside world. Could there be a disease spreading? To think he could be dying of some infection alone in the wilderness tore his heart to pieces. Selen felt tears come to his eyes. He shifted on his bed and curled under the warm blanket. Would this be his life until he died? He refused such a fate.

  Selen had had thoughts about leaving. He longed to go south. He could not explain why. Though he was lonely, he had all he needed here; a roof, his animals, his herbs, and enough work to put food on the table. Still, the call was stronger. It grew in his chest like a fire. Every day, he felt more and more like a bird before the migration. He, who had never left his forest. His walks would now take him on unexplored trails. He could stay out for hours watching the pink sun above the glowing white peaks. What lay beyond the Frozen Mountains was a mystery to him. Yet, the pain in his heart filled his chest, and he looked at the horizon with hopeful eyes.

  Two days passed. The bags waiting against the front door were full with food and potions. Selen saddled his rustic dray horse. It had not been an easy decision, but leaving was his only choice. He would head to the village and keep on moving south. He harnessed the bags on the horse and added a second blanket. The sheep had food for five days and should make it until someone came for them. The most painful decision had been to free the hawk. The bird had been his only friend for three years. He had found it, nursed it, and cherished it like a child, but he did not dare to take it with him on the journey. Prey birds were a symbol of the higher class, to which he did not belong. Moreover, it would not survive down south. It would either be killed by a man’s hand or by disorientation. Selen had taken him to the river, far enough away from the house. He had removed the small chaperon and delicately unlaced the jess from the bird’s ankle. The hawk had waited a few seconds, as if tasting its new freedom, before taking flight and disappearing above the naked tree tops.

  Selen hesitated before locking the door. He put the key back in his pocket, got on his horse, and rode away.