Zepharim's Light parts 1–2

Book 3 of The Kryndor series

PART 1

KAELITH

“Greetings. I am Kaelith of Old Stone.”

I grip my skirt and bow my head. Exuding grace, just as I was taught by etiquette tutors.

“I am Draxel, but you may call me Drax.”


I glance at my fiancé, who stands tall and proud. 

Proud enough that he doesn’t need to use his Houses’ name, for we all know where he comes from. His house is much older and noble than mine. The blood of pyromancers still flows through his veins, and I can see a hint of flames in his golden eyes.

Although fire mages have long gone extinct, hints of magic still linger in their descendants. Lord Draxel’s family is known for their excellence in the battlefield. Their blood quickly clots, making them damn near invincible.

“Isn’t this just dandy?” Asks my mother, clapping her hands.

She has always been a romantic. A fine lady.

I first met Drax when I was one years old, and then again when I was five. Our houses declared our engagement when I was six.

I don’t remember either of those encounters, but I will certainly remember this one. Drax and I are eighteen years old now, and there is no escaping what’s coming: Marriage.

Most maidens get married at fifteen. I’ve stalled for years now, begging my father to reconsider my union because I knew that once I lost my title as a maiden, I will be bound to a secluded wing of a manor. Never to see sunlight again. Never to wander the mountains, enjoying its game, shade, flowers and the ancient magic that clings to every stone.

“Please, Lord Drax, join us on a tour,” says my father. 

Drax dips his head, no longer glancing at me as if he’s seen all there is. I am an unremarkable girl. Not particularly talented in any of the feminine arts: singing, dancing, painting, embroidering.

But I am formidable with a bow and arrow.

Drax is tall and slender. He wears the colors of his house–black and crimson with metal and leather accents. Modest in style, I’d say, given that his house is tenfold wealthier than ours.

“As you know, the mountains you crossed and this very manor were built a millennia ago by stone mages; our ancestors.”

All the stone mages have long gone extinct just like the pyromancers, but the man-made mountains and our unshakable manor remain. As does the magic in our blood which protects us from diseases. It’s our only saving grace; the only reason Drax’ House accepted this proposal. They wanted strong heirs.

I brood as I follow my parents, Drax, and his two guards.

“Will you join us through the winter as we discussed, Lord Drax?” Asks my father.

“Yes. My father figured this is the best opportunity to learn about your House’s standing before our union.”

Lord Drax will inherit the manor from my father. A manor that I’ve studied brick-to-brick. From the wars it has fared to the plagues and storms. From the mages that built it to the tyrants that tried to destroy it.

I know of the manor’s assets, debts, and obligations. My father is rather progressive and taught me all about accounting. He figured it would be important in case my husband ever fell ill and needed a regent.

This marriage will benefit Lord Drax far more than me. He gets a manor and lands. And me? Well, I get labor pains.

I linger behind as the group marches onward and my father drones on and on about tales of the manor I’ve heard from my cradle.

The stone floors are worn smooth in the center, rough along the edges where repairs had been made. The walls rise cold and solid, each block marked by cracks, chips, and the faint scars of old sieges. Narrow windows set deep into the stone let in bright light, and iron torches fixed to the walls are blackened from long-extinguished flames.

The group turns a corner, and I blow a breath as I slip into the library, abandoning them.

I scan the tomes of books I’ve already read. I flip through books for a while, enjoying the earthy smell of a page gone untouched for years and the warm sunlight streaming through the tall windows.

My gaze fastens on the knight statue by the desk. I take the sword from its cold, metal gloves, and I appreciate the weight of the broadsword.

It’s much too heavy for my frame, but a welcomed challenge. 

I swing a couple of times. The blade drags through the air, slower than I hoped. My wrists sting from the recoil, my shoulders burn. I grit my teeth, correct my grip, and swing again. Dust flurries up with each motion. The statue watches in silence, my only witness. By the tenth strike, my arms quake with a welcomed burn.

When I hold metal, I feel a thrill I can never find while embroidering.

“It’s not quite ladylike to wield a sword.”


I straighten, lowering the sword as my wide eyes fasten on Drax’s gold ones.

He’s been watching me…although I’ve no idea how long he has been lurking around for. I’ve completely lost track of time.

I catch my breath, my fingers curling around the grip of the sword as I lower it to the ground. My face warms. 

Mother strictly forbade me from revealing my…boyish endeavors, and I’ve already failed her. 

“Yes, well…It’s not quite gentlemanly to spy on a maiden, my lord.”

He chuckles, lying against the doorframe casually. The contours of his face smoothen. Revealing a softer, approachable side of him that I figured did not exist. 

“Can a man not admire his fiance?”


“Fiance?” I respond as I return the broadsword to the frozen knight. “I don’t recall you ever asking for my hand. I’ve only been following my father’s orders. You are…my duty. Not my fiance.”

My words would put my dear mother in an early grave, but I’ve no reservations against letting everyone know that I don’t approve of this engagement. I want to die as an old spinner. I don’t wish for any man–Lord or not–to sweep me away from my home. These mountains are like an extension of my body.

This manor is unshakeable. To say otherwise would be blasphemy. And yet with every second the fiery Lord spends silently leaning against the doorframe, it feels like the stones beneath my feet–perfectly carved and placed by stone mages–are giving away.

“Tell me, Kaelith, were you baptized in the waters of the Unyielding Ocean?”

This must be an insult, I’m sure. The Unyielding Ocean separates Zepharim from faraway lands and no ship can sail it. It is rowdy and wild.

“I’m sorry that you find my character lacking, Lord Drax.”


He stands tall, stepping deeper into the room as I consider reaching for the sword again.

He shouldn’t be here while I am unsupervised. It’s improper. And yet I cannot find my voice to scold him. Deep down, I don’t care for properness. Heavens know how often I sneak out to the mountains, unsupervised, to hunt beasts and visit the villages.

And it appears this boy very much has a wild side to him.

Standing toe-to-toe with me, he peers down. Heat curls around me–a warning. And yet I refuse to turn away.

“Lift the sword,” he commands, his voice hardened.

I part my lips, and only manage an exhale. “I… I beg your pardon?”


“Lift the sword. Your stance needs work, and your fiance shall train you.”

I blink, my heart jolting in my chest when he persists on calling himself my fiance after my impudent renunciation of our engagement.

He’s not running for the hills? He wants to train me?

I glance at the sword.

“But…but you are not armed.”

“I don’t need to be. You won’t pose much of a threat.”

That does it.

Wiping my hands on my skirt, I reach for the sword.

I must teach this man that although I am no stone mage, I’m as stubborn and unmoveable as the element.

***

Lord Drax stayed at Old Stone for five months, through the long and unyielding winter. 

We sparred for countless hours. A flame burned brighter with every brush of his fingers, every playful smirk. I was utterly smitten when we’d sit together by the hearth and he told tales of his hometown.

He would lead me into the mountains under the guise of a romantic stroll, making my mother swoon as she imagined her tomboy daughter finally becoming a proper lady on the arm of a lord. But at the mountains, I would swap my dress for pants, draw my bow and arrow, and teach Drax how to better his aim.

He had never met a lady like me, he would say with a smile on his face as I blushed and muttered that I am anything but. He would always correct me, insisting that I was a lady albeit as stubborn as stone.

He told me he couldn’t wait to marry me and introduce me to his lands of which he spent hours telling me tales about.

I fell in love. I’d never seen such a warm winter. And I was able to forget about the dreadful, awful plague that was tearing through the villages and towns.

I gave Lord Drax my first kiss. My heart, my soul, my body.

A week after taking my maidenhood, he disappeared. He left for his lands after hastily breaking off our engagement.

I cried enough tears to drown the Unyielding ocean.

I figured I’d never see him again. And I was right. I never saw that boy again.

Because the next time I crossed paths with Lord Draxel, he was a man. It had been a decade and I hardly recognized him, but the man certainly recognized me.

PART 2

Ten Years Later

KAELITH

“Kaelith,” my father grits as I walk across the short cobblestone bridge to reach the manor’s doors.

“It’s well past your curfew! Where were you?”


I adjust my bow on my shoulder and lift the allee bird bound by ropes. Its feathers matted and bloody.

“In the mountains. I was hunting dinner.”

He grits his teeth, eyeing the blood splatter on my sleeve. “You have no business hunting when we have servants!”

Poor father. 

He never forgave me for losing my betrothed and soiling my name. Once news broke that Drax took my maidenhood, no Lord would consider me even as a servant. The whore of Old Stone, they call me, although I’ve only laid with one man.

I hardly pay the gossip any mind. Drax’s rejection worked out for me in the end. I’m free of the burden of marriage. Good riddance.

“The plague–” he starts.

“The plague is ravaging the villages,” I sigh. “It’s not safe to wander. Yes. I know.”

Father means well. I am his only daughter. If only I were born a man and not a stubborn maiden…I would’ve spared both of us plenty of headaches. 

I think he used to appreciate my free spirit much more when I was a young girl, dutifully following his every step. He taught me how to hunt and live off the land. But ever since I secured my fate as a spinster, it has been all criticism.

“Go pay your respects to your mother. She has been worried,” he says, waving his hand with a scowl.

“Yes, sir.”

Stopping by the kitchen, I drop off the bird.  

“Hi Alla,” I greet my handmaiden.

“Good day, My lady,” she replies, bowing. But she does not smile.

No one does. Death surrounds this place, seeping into the holy soil and ancient stone.

The air in the manor has been grim. A new plague has been raging for three years now. Villagers are starving and displaced, their villages crippled by crime, fires, and starvation. 

Our manor cannot help much. It is nearly bankrupt, receiving no coin from unpaid taxes. Our coffers barely have enough to keep the manor fed and warm. We are nobles in name only.

My father’s health has been afflicted by all the misfortune. If he knew I’ve been hunting to share my game with the starving villagers, it would put him in his grave.

But of what use is my plague-resistant blood if I don’t use it to help others?

I stop by my chambers to change my dress and freshen up, not wanting to hear another one of mother’s winding lectures about keeping up appearances.

I track her down in the library. She’s crying by the window. The financial strain of the manor and the suffering of the villagers has been keeping her up at night.

I knock on the door before entering. “Mother?”


She wipes her face and curses under her breath. A rare occurrence. Mother always says ladies should not curse.

“Darling,” she sniffles. “Where have you been?”

“The mountains.”

She sighs. “It’s not safe there and you know it. What if bandits stumble upon you?”

“Then they better be immune to arrows, or they’d find one lodged in each of their skulls.”

“Kaelith!” She gasps. “That unholy mouth of yours…that is no way for you to speak!”


I chuckle and embrace her. “Apologies. I meant to say that I would lie there and cry until a knight in shining armor came to my rescue.”

“My daughter…” She embraces me tightly. “So brave.”


Something clings to her words, though I cannot put my finger on it.

“Are you all right?”

She glances at the locked doors. Her voice is bound tight as she says, “Your father is ill. You will have to manage the manor for a few months until your uncle arrives to take over.”

I nod. I’ve long prepared for this. I know it pains my mother that I’ve no husband to take care of the House, but this is an opportunity for her to see that we don’t need any damned man to lead us.

“I…I think it is time you knew the truth your father keeps from you.”

“Oh?” I reply, raising a brow.

I figured there were no secrets in our family.

“This plague was hell-sent, Kaelith. There are rumors that…” she swallows. “Do you remember the ancient plague that made all maidens infertile? The plague that only allowed elderly women to deliver? Well, rumor has it that it is back.”

That’s entirely false. I’ve been to the village many times, and have heard nothing of the sort. But my mother’s circle is plagued by meek, sheltered housewives that have never touched grass. No offense to them, as my mother is one of them. 

“We’ve been…containing it…”

“Pray tell,” I reply. “How could you possibly contain a plague?”

Tears stream down her face, and her skin reddens with shame and embarrassment. With wide eyes, she blurts. “The…the fires…” 

“What about them?”

“We…we set a few. To…to eliminate the infected.”

I stare at her blankly; hearing words but not registering them.

I shake my head. “I beg your pardon?”


Countless fires have sparked in ten villages and towns over the past three years. I’ve read the reports. They were all accidental.

“It was…your father. He had to! The–“

“I…you’re defending this?” I step away, reaching for a bow that’s not there. Feeling anxiety crawling up my spine as unseen danger corners me.

“Kaelith….”

Oh, god!

I am horrified.

The burnt children. The crying mothers.

I can’t be a part of this.

I walk away, unable to hear another fucking word. I return to my room and change into my hunting clothes.

And then I leave.

I stalk the mountains for hours…days. Hunting and fishing. Doing anything but looking back at the manor that’s perched on the horizon.

When I’m tired, I sleep in trees, daggers and arrows at my side. When I’m hungry, I hunt. But I never retrace my steps; I never return.

Maybe one day I will. Maybe one day I’ll return to Old Stone.

But for now, dirt paths call for me.

I’d rather face the diseases of Zepharim than the sickness in the halls of my ancestral home.

***

If only mother could see me now.

I walk across town with my hair tucked under a hat; my dress replaced with baggy cotton pants and a tunic. It’s a lot easier to tag along hunting parties when cross-dressing as a boy. 

Traveling as a woman makes journeys longer, with lustful looks from leering men and wandering hands keeping me on guard.

I am no lady here.

I’m a ways away from Old Stone. I’ve reached The Citadel. A fast-paced whirlwind of a place not for the faint hearted. There are inns overflowing with rowdy soldiers, heckling peddlers and shopkeepers, and curious spirits like myself wandering around.

And yet I see reminders of home everywhere. The copper colored stone buildings in The Citadel were constructed by stone mages centuries ago. The homes and shops are sturdy, but not extravagant. The structures became smaller as the mages’ power withered over the years.

I’ve rented a bed at a stable. The innkeeper took pity on me and let me sleep beside the animals. It’s a dreadful place, but I don’t miss the comforts of home. I’ve never felt more alive.

The streets have been more unruly than usual ever since word spread that The Kinslayer is coming to The Citadel. A man whose real name was lost among the legends and high tales. They say he’s a General who serves an evil Queen who rules a faraway land.

I’ve heard the drunks sing songs at the pub about The General of blood and fire. A man of pyromancer origins.

I can’t wait for this mysterious General to pass by so the commotion can end. I’ve been saving coin to move west; toward the Unyielding ocean which I’ve never seen. And then, once I peer at its wrathful waves, I will continue south.

Now that I am nearly thirty, I must celebrate my official title as a spinster in a glorious adventure.

Crossing the street, I stop by the tannery. “Enry, what about the pelts I delivered yesterday?”

Enry glances at me. He’s old, stout, and mean  We’ve been trading for a couple of weeks now. He had no coin to pay yesterday, but he promised he would settle his debt today.

“I’ve no idea what you speak of. Go on, boy.”

So he intends to rob me, then.

I sigh. “Come on, Enry. Don’t be this way. You need my business.”

“Scram!”

I turn away. 

Refusing to leave empty-handed, I snatch a utility belt off the display table and take it with me on the way out.

“Halt! Thief!”

“I’m no fucking thief!” I shout over my shoulder as I leave the tannery.

“Thief!” Enry roars as he gives chase.

Outside, heads turn and eyes lock on me.

“Call the sheriff!” 

“For what?” I ask, exasperated. “You owe me!”

Hearing approaching hooves, I spy dust being kicked up in the distance.

It looks like The Citadel has some new visitors.

I drop the belt when hands yank be backwards. Enry kicks the back of my knee, and I go down, hard. My knees hitting the stone so hard that my teeth clatter.

Just then, a wave of dust washes over us and the new riders pause in front of the tannery.

And then, I hear a voice that makes me shudder.

A/N: Welcome to Book 3!!!! Welcome to Zepharim, baby!!!

Did you notice Drax has gold eyes? 👀 What could his relation to Ceryn and Myrien be?