Lost in the Dawn (Erythleh Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  LOST

  IN THE

  DAWN

  Erythleh Chronicles: Book One

  by Catherine Johnson

  FREAK CIRCLE PRESS

  Lost in the Dawn

  Copyright 2015 Catherine Johnson

  All rights reserved

  Catherine Johnson has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this book under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Catherine Johnson:

  Powerless

  What Price Freedom

  The Kairos Series (MC Romance):

  Blood in the Water. Book One.

  Bones by the Wood. Book Two.

  Breath on the Wind. Book Three.

  This book is dedicated to the Freaks.

  Ladies, your friendship, love and unwavering belief are blessings beyond measure.

  Now, stop distracting me!

  Chapter One

  “Do you want to see a gryphon?”

  Serwren jumped at the whisper by her ear, only because it was unexpected, not because she didn’t know who would be sneaking up behind her.

  “Father specifically said we shouldn’t try to go near them.” She whispered in response to her friend. The great library appeared empty. She’d been sure she’d been alone for awhile, but she kept her tone low in deference to the respectful silence out of habit.

  “And you always do what your father says, of course,” Jorrell mocked.

  “I try to.”

  “Just like the time you got caught riding one of the Cumeelii steeds, or the time he found you in the highest minaret of the palace, or the time he caught you swimming in the Moon Cave, or the time...”

  Serwren interrupted the litany of her misdeeds. “Jor, everything you’ve listed was your idea to begin with.” She paused when he raised one eyebrow at her. “Okay, almost everything. But still, every time we get caught, I’m the one that ends up in the most trouble.” Serwren twisted around Jorrell, who was leaning on the back of her chair, and took a thorough look around the room. She still couldn’t see her twin brother, Erkas, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t somewhere close, listening. She dropped her voice back down to little more than a murmur. “If Father finds me near the gryphons, he’ll say I can’t attend the Feast of the Twelfth Moon. I want to go to that ball, Jor.”

  Jorrell was the same age as Serwren and Erkas. As the son of a consul, he was receiving the same education as the offspring of Dimacius, the First Father and ruler of Felthiss. They’d been friends since childhood. In fact, more often than not, people assumed that all three children were siblings. Although Erkas' hair was a ruddy shade, Jorrell’s was so dark it was almost black, and Serwren’s was a brown that was somewhere between the two, all three shared clear blue eyes, although Erkas' were often darkened by anger at some perceived slight. Elthrinn, Jorrell's younger sister, who was ten years his junior, had their mother’s hazel eyes and was educated separately at a level more fitting to her age.

  Jorrell shrugged nonchalantly. “So? We won’t get caught. And anyway, why do you want to go so badly? Are you thinking that you might find a husband? Catch the eye of one of the wealthy, old men that will be letching all over you?”

  “Actually, I was hoping to show off my new gown, and I thought that maybe you’d ask me to dance with you.”

  “I don’t dance, Serry, you know that.”

  “You do for me.”

  “I do when it’s only the two of us.”

  “So you wouldn’t ask me, not even this once? Not even in a room so crowded with people that there’ll barely be room to breathe let alone dance?”

  “Especially because we’ll be in a room full of people.”

  “Spoilsport.” She pouted and he sighed. “Besides, I need to study. You should have your head in a book, too. You know Consul Remmah is going to test us on all this.” Serwren waved her fingers over the large tome of the political histories of their country that she was reading.

  “Serry, you know all that stuff already. And my brain is as full of as much as it can hold. If I read anything else about that megalomaniac, Ekvit, something really important, like how to ride, is going to fall out of my head to make way for the useless facts.”

  “They’re not useless, Jor. Your father’s a consul. Don’t you want to follow him into the Forum one day?”

  “What?” Jorrell reared back, looking genuinely shocked. “By Thyar, no. I can’t imagine anything more tedious.”

  “If not the Forum, what do you plan to do with yourself, then?” Serwren asked with more exasperation than curiosity.

  An impish grin curled his lips and he leaned down to her shoulder again. “I can think of lots of things I plan to do.” Serwren was still half-turned in her chair so that she could look at him as they spoke. When Jorrell spoke next, his lips brushed her ear and his breath whispered across her cheek. That was playing dirty. She’d agree to anything when he got close like that. “Do you want to see a gryphon, or not?”

  Serwren turned her face just a little, just enough that her lips were almost brushing Jorrell’s. It was only so nearly a touch, but considering that the room they were in was not at all private, it was everything, and it was not nearly enough. She thought about taking advantage of their close proximity to each other, but that would be foolish in the extreme in a public space such as the library. And besides....

  Serwren sighed in defeat. “Yes, I want to see a gryphon.”

  Jorrell turned his face, just enough, to brush Serwren’s lips with his own. It wasn’t a kiss, not quite. Then he pulled back before she could do anything foolish.

  “Come on, then.”

  He stepped back to make room for her to push her chair away from the desk at which she’d been studying. His eyes, the clear blue of the summer skies, were twinkling with triumph. Her book lay forgotten on the desk as they made their escape from the oppressive solemnitude of the cavernous room.

  Jorrell linked his fingers with hers as they made their way through the palace. It was Serwren’s home and Jorrell had spent virtually as much time in it as she, so they knew all the fastest routes through the building, and all the most concealed hiding places. They hurried through the lesser-used corridors. Anyone seeing the two of them together, at a time when everyone knew they should be studying, would know instantly that they were up to mischief.

  Running along the corridors that were lined with windows was a little like dashing through a rainbow. The windows were mosaics of small panes of glass in every hue and shade. The effect of the sunlit glass, and the corresponding patterns that the panes projected onto the floor, was almost dizzying. They wove their way between the ornate stone columns which supported the arches that criss-crossed the ceilings of the palace. The high, vaulted ceilings and the windows which spanned almost the full height of the exterior walls did much to prevent the shady interior of the palace from appearing gloomy.

  Serwren didn’t even catch one glimpse of her brother. They were supposed to be studying the history of Felthiss and the other realms and countries of the earth at the request of their tutor for the subject, Consul Remmah. The consul had all but given up on Jorrell and Erkas. The two boys had paid the subject its due attention, but no more than that. The consul was disappointed, particularly in Erkas’ lack of enthusiasm. Although Serwren knew that her brother studied outside the class room, concentrating solely on the portions of subjects which excited him. It was possible that he’d taken the b
ooks he wanted to read to his rooms, but she was rarely that lucky.

  Since they had been very young children, Serwren had followed Jorrell into trouble. That was, perhaps, slightly disingenuous. If she were honest with herself, at least half the time it was she doing the leading, or putting ideas into Jorrell’s head. Erkas had always been both jealous of her friendship with Jorrell and resentful that she could be closer to anyone than the brother she’d shared a womb with. Those emotions had made Erkas bitter, and a little twisted. If either Jorrell’s father or hers found out that they had been up to something that they ought not to have been, it was usually because Erkas had provided the intelligence.

  They were seventeen now, and Serwren had come to the realisation that she should begin to behave better than a rebellious child. And yet here she was, running alongside Jorrell through the corridors of the palace, hiding in the scant shadows if they heard anyone approaching, just as they had when they were seven.

  They escaped from the palace into the open air. It was the tenth moon of the year, the first moon of Aweer. The crops were dormant for this season and the air was crisp and fresh, devoid of the heat that the season of Taan brought.

  The year was counted out by the twelve new moons and quartered into seasons which were named for the four deities that all Felthissians worshiped. The season of Doohr – Goddess of Water – was the time of growing and new life. All crops were planted during the time of the first moon of that season, and it was typically the time when livestock birthed their young. The season of Taan - God of Fire - was when the temperatures reached their peak. By the third moon of that season, it was time for the crops to be harvested. The season of Thyar - God of Earth - was a time of fertility, the season to care for the fields, to prepare them for the next cycle and for livestock to mate. The season of Aweer - Goddess of Air - was the coldest season, the time of storms, and the time during which the animals that hibernated did so.

  The night of the third full moon of Aweer was a time for great celebration. Felthissians visited the temples to make sacrifices and to pray to all four deities to entreat them to look kindly on their efforts and to gift them with prosperity and good harvests. Having demonstrated their devotion to the gods and goddesses, they held parties to welcome the coming year. It was a time that families came together without the distractions of everyday life.

  Despite the drop in temperature, it never snowed in the city of Thrissia during the moons of Aweer. Thrissia’s position above the port was too near the salt of the ocean air for that, but there would be deep drifts on the Heranuc mountains, the white peaks of which were visible from the upper stories of the palace. The Cradle of the Cumeelii, the only point through which the range could be crossed, would be impassable. During this season, Felthiss was cut off from its friendliest neighbour, Dassrin.

  The front of the palace seemed to balance precariously over the city, which fell away down the steep hillside, almost into the waters of the natural harbour below. It was that curve of the cliffs, which provided a sheltered bay on the edge of the sea of Thleen, which had been the seed for the port, which in turn had grown into a thriving town, and then bustling a city. The port was the lifeblood of Felthiss, the beating heart of Thrissia, and the reason that the city, and the country that surrounded it, had become a force to be reckoned with anywhere in the realm.

  Behind the palace was an oasis of beautiful, extensively landscaped gardens. Beyond that was the barracks. The buildings that housed the army were long and low, and enclosed the parade ground at their centre. It was in that massive arena that they would find the gryphons, if they could sneak in undetected.

  It was probable that they hadn’t been supposed to overhear the conversation between Dimacius and Consul Sephan– official overseer of the army and Jorrell’s father. Serwren and Jorrell had been in the gardens, tucked in a shaded corner. They had remained silent, rather than face the consequences of being discovered, and so had heard the private plans that the First Father and his military advisor had made to bring the gryphons and their keepers, the En Dek, over from the Isle of Gryphons on the pretence of a parade. In truth, they would be negotiating support for their army. Neither eavesdropper had been able to make out who the intended adversary might be.

  Although her outfit might seem impractical for sneaking around, the range of movement provided by her full, floor-length skirt easily allowed her to be as stealthy as Jorrell in his leather trews and cotton shirt. The soft leather of her shoes was easily more silent that Jorrell’s boots. In a concession to the cooler season, Serwren was wearing a long shawl, a length of material twice as long as she was tall, wound around her body to cover the skin of her arms and abdomen that her fitted top left bare. Her only disadvantage, given the disparities between their outfits, was that the full skirt impaired Serwren’s climbing ability, but that was not a skill she would need for this excursion.

  They were able to gain entrance to the barracks through the door that was usually used when supplies were delivered to the kitchens. Although they were less familiar with this building, having spent less time in it, they had still done enough exploring over the years to know how to get to the parade ground without passing through the more occupied areas. It helped that the arrival of the gryphons was a rare sight. Anyone who could, would have their attention diverted by the spectacle.

  Serwren and Jorrell made their way to the far end of the parade ground. They spotted Dimacius, Consul Sephan and General Hitaal talking to the leader of the En Dek, identifiable by his golden helmet, which was formed into the likeness of an eagle’s head. They knew that they needed to find a vantage point as far away from the quartet as possible.

  There were twenty of the majestic animals in the arena. Each one was four times the size of the biggest horses which pulled the ploughs in the fields. The gryphons sat patiently, their massive wings folded against their sides, their forepaws crossed under their beaks, their tails swishing and flicking to keep the insects at bay. Their riders waited alongside them, impressive in their leather and chain mail armour. All except one. One beast had been separated from the others, at the farthest reaches of the space, away from the dignitaries. This gryphon did not sit patiently; it stood to attention, despite the heavy iron collar around its neck and the solid chain that tethered it to a stake in the ground. It did not appear to have a rider to mind it.

  Serwren and Jorrell ventured out into the cloistered walkway which would lead them within touching distance of the alert animal. It was a risk. The gryphon might easily react to their presence and give them away. They got as close as they dared. It was rare for the gryphons to be gathered in such a manner on the mainland. It was more usual for them to join the army directly at the front lines of a battle. This was the closest that Serwren and Jorrell had ever been to the magnificent beasts.

  “Come on.” Serwren whispered. She crept forward as her sense of adventure overcame her sense of reason.

  Jorrell caught her arm to hold her back. “No. See the chain? It’s to keep it grounded, it must be a nervous one.”

  Serwren had no intention of getting so close to something so unusual and then letting the opportunity pass her by. “Don’t you want to touch one?”

  “Not that one. You could lose an arm.”

  “Come on. Where’s your sense of adventure? You’ll regret it tonight if you don’t.” Serwren didn’t wait for Jorrell. Determined, she stepped carefully along the walkway, intending to leave its cover where the gryphon would obscure her from her father’s view.

  “I have a feeling there are a lot of things I’ll be regretting tonight.” She only just caught Jorrell’s mutterings as he followed her.

  Serwren slipped out of one of the open arches in the cloister wall. The gryphon, detecting her proximity, turned its eagle head to keep her in sight and resettled its wings, but it did not squawk. Its body was that of a lion. Its tail, tipped with a tuft of fur, swished and twitched.

  Serwren stepped closer. She did not crouch; she kept her st
ance assertive, but her pace slow. The massive body shielded her from sight. The beast huffed once, but made no other movement as she approached, close enough to touch. She held her hand out slowly, her hand open, her palm upwards, to let the animal get used to the idea that she wanted to touch it. She had no intention of losing a limb if she could help it. Although the gryphons were renowned for their viciousness in battle, they were equally lauded for their adherence to their training.

  The smooth fur of its body and legs was perfectly black and rippled like the water of a pool at midnight. The wings were equally dark, apart from the longest feathers at the tip, which were so brightly white that they almost glowed. Its golden eyes gleamed with intelligence. Serwren made sure to keep an awareness of the proximity of its cruel beak, which was golden near its face, but tipped with the same inky black as the majority of its form. As the gryphon was standing proud, Serwren was able to slip under its wing and lay her palm on its flank. The fur was every bit as silken as it had appeared. Undaunted by the fact that her head barely reached its shoulder, Serwren smoothed her hand in soothing motions along the heaving ribs, being careful to keep her feet clear of its forepaws, which were tipped with gleaming, jetty talons.