"Where are we going?" asked Viggo.

  The hurried shadows of bats flitted above the dark treetops. The campfire, dying down, cast light orange flickers; sparks swirled in the clear air, lightly rippled with smoke. A few other fires, like mirror reflections, glimmered beyond rows of identical tree trunks—over there the Nocturns were gathered, chattering in their language. It was hot and stuffy, even more so near the fire. Remiz remained silent, occasionally glancing toward his fellow citizens. Rita was focused on turning a peeled and carved stick, onto which they had skewered chunks of beef bought in the city. The meat sizzled, forming a delicious crust, its melting fat crackling and releasing an aroma that tortured their hungry stomachs. Kairu frowned.

  "I think we’re heading to a point near Nalvin," said Petros. "First, I’m curious to see what Saelin is planning and to witness his army in action. Second, my calculations indicate that the goal of my excavation lies there."

  "And what do the four of us have to do with it?"

  "Listen." Petros leaned forward, his deep, pale eyes shining with the fire’s sparks. "I’ll need assistants soon, people who truly understand what’s going on. It’s possible that once we reach Nalvin, I’ll leave you for a short time. I very much hope that when I find you again, I’ll finally understand this whole story and be able to explain everything. But for now I want you to look after Kairu in my absence and begin working on retrieving the diamond from Saelin."

  "Where will you go after Nalvin?" asked Rita.

  "I’ll explain later."

  "This is so frustrating!" Kairu burst out. "Why do you always speak in riddles?"

  "Because there are many things I still can’t trust you with," Petros replied calmly. "I believe that eventually we’ll have no secrets from each other, but for now I can’t share everything. And now, isn’t that enough questions for one evening? I, for one, am going to sleep."

  He turned away and leaned back against a tree.

  "Fine," said Viggo. "More dinner for us. Rita, stop turning it back and forth, listen to a seasoned cook—put out the fire! It’s done, just needs a sprinkle of salt. Remiz, I know you’ve got salt! And pepper. Too bad there aren’t any tomatoes, but onion and garlic will do. Well, then... a-a-aah! Hot! Damn it!"

  "Don’t curse," Rita smirked. "The Nocturns might know that word and take offense. Right, Remiz?"

  "My apologies," Viggo wiped the tears from his eyes, streaming from the pepper, onion, and garlic. "Just wanted to say that skewers are a great invention."

  It was getting darker. Only a few glowing coals remained from the fire, which Rita stamped out with her heels as she stood. Kairu curled up on the now-familiar ground, its hardness barely bothering him anymore. Back during the expedition, he had wondered how long it would take of wandering in the wilderness before he could sleep peacefully on cold, hard soil, on sharp stones, rough needles, and moss. Now he knew—not very long. Soft city mattresses now seemed uncomfortable.

  He lay again, absently staring at the smoldering embers. Across the ashes, the eyes of Petros gleamed from beneath the tree trunk. Viggo, full and content, softly snored through both nostrils. Remiz slept silently, while Rita tossed and turned, wrapping herself in her cloak against the nighttime chill.

  They were together again.

  Morning came with the loud shouts of workers beyond the trees, the restless whinnying of horses, and the whistle of birds. The sun, already high above the horizon, pierced through the branches overhead in fine beams. Somewhere, nightingales sang fresh trills, wood cracked under a woodpecker’s beak, and something rustled, creaked, screamed in a sharp, broken voice. The forest was waking, filling with motion and sound.

  Petros was the last to wake. He twitched, opened his eyes suddenly, looking straight at Kairu, who had approached to wake him. For the first time, at a distance of barely twenty inches, Kairu looked into his eyes and recoiled. Usually gray and weary, the professor’s eyes were now a furious, deep black, and somewhere in their abyss, unreachable by sight, a fire flared, consuming, terrifying, and radiating heat with an icy wave.

  Then it all vanished. Petros blinked, looked away, and groaned. Kairu froze, horrified by the image burned into his memory, staring at Petros, who now looked back at him with his usual pale, sleepy, and tired eyes. He sat up and reached for his ashwood staff, which he never parted with, not even in sleep.

  "Good morning," Viggo greeted cheerfully.

  "Morning," Petros grunted. "What’s that?" He sniffed, nodding toward the pot into which Viggo had emptied a bag of oats.

  "Breakfast. Can’t you tell?"

  "Forget breakfast." Petros wearily ran a hand over his eyes, pushed long strands of silver hair from his face, and absently fumbled with the stones of the small necklace around his neck. "To hell with it… We’re packing up. We need to hurry."

  Viggo’s eyes widened.

  "What?! Hey, what’s the rush? How can you skip breakfast?"

  "Every minute counts now," Petros said quietly. "We have to reach Nalvin Valley by the end of August, and the path is long, especially if we keep following this arc and stopping for excavations. We’re essentially taking a detour of a hundred miles."

  "You’re kidding!" Viggo sat cross-legged, stirring the oatmeal grumpily. "Why not go straight to Nalvin? Petros, sit down, for Aktos’s sake. Eat something, you didn’t even have dinner yesterday..."

  "I’m used to it. And we can’t go directly to Nalvin because the risk of losing the rail tracks, our only point of reference, is too great. I’ve gone off track too many times already, and now that luck is almost within reach, I’m not going to make any mistakes… Fine. You have ten minutes while I gather the workers and pack the wagons. I won’t be eating."

  Watching his back, Kairu slowly sat down, still stunned, wondering if he had imagined it. But in his mind’s eye, there was still the darkness, and the fire igniting within it.

  ***

  Thus began the days of a new journey.

  The summer turned out to be hot. Kairu could only remember one other summer as scorching in his life—the summer when an epidemic broke out in the village. Not a single drop of rain fell for four months; the earth withered, cracked, breathed with a scorching haze, the trees let their branches droop helplessly, and the grass dried up, turning to eternal dust. The village well filled so slowly that the village elder forbade drawing more than one bucket of water per family per day. People didn’t live, they survived, longing for autumn, dreaming of rain, and dreading how bad the harvest might be. When had it last rained this year?... He couldn’t remember...

  They traveled on, stopping about once a week at lonely, abandoned villages and settlements where Petros would buy food and water, generously handing out golden trinkets from the excavations. He didn’t mind giving away the gold and the faded stones covered in sand and water—they filled an entire wagon and were of no use to anyone. The workers laughed while examining them, Viggo turned up his nose disdainfully and launched into rants about the mineralogical museum in Vaimar.

  "We’ve got plenty of this stuff," Petros said carelessly. "Let the villagers play with it. They’ve probably never seen anything like it."

  The forests would thicken at times, covering the caravan of loaded wagons with a whispering, brooding canopy, surrounding them with uneven rows of gray trunks draped in moss and lichen. Then they would open up, releasing them into wide fields overgrown with heather, where far to the southwest, barely visible white patches marked the peaks of a mountain range crossing the center of the Southern Province. Villages were rare, towns even rarer, but the rails wound on without end, and every now and then they came across traces of ancient Nocturn activity.

  In the evenings, they would light a campfire, and Viggo had taken on the duty of cooking dinner; in exchange, Kairu and Rita played cards with him. Petros would usually draw the curtain of his covered wagon right away and sit there late into the night by candlelight, absorbed in his scientific work. Remiz sometimes joined the card players, but more often he would slip away behind the trees, where the Nocturn workers were cooking their own dinner. Kairu would sneak glances in that direction, curious to see whether Remiz was more talkative in the company of people who shared his native language. But after observing a few times, he became convinced that even among his compatriots, Remiz mostly stayed silent, listening intently to their lively chatter and nodding thoughtfully.

  One evening, when Remiz returned to the campfire, Kairu cautiously asked him:

  "How are they doing?"

  Remiz looked at him in surprise.

  "I mean..." Kairu muttered. "Do they know what's going on? About the pirate attack on Surrell, about Saelin’s betrayal...?"

  "Of course they know. They're not idiots. They get the news. They're scared too."

  "But they're still here?"

  "Petros pays them three times more than anyone else would. This is their last chance to earn good money before the war starts. And during the war, that money might be what keeps them from starving."

  Kairu nodded. There was another question that had been itching at him for a while.

  "Remiz, how do they treat you? Aren’t they surprised that you... you, a wealthy scholar, are here with us? Aren’t they jealous of you?"

  The Nocturn raised his eyebrows in surprise again. Then he understood, and smiled.

  "I explained to them that I don’t work for Petros. I told them I’m here because you’re my friends. I also said I’m here because this story involves relics of our people, our history, and I believe that if I have a chance to influence what happens to the Lake of Aktida—I should take that chance. I’m not eager to fight for Aktida’s freedom, but I am interested in being part of events that might shape Rikutiam’s future."

  "They understood?"

  "They understood."

  ***

  Stops were seldom declared, but from time to time, Petros, meticulously studying every blade of grass, would order a halt. Then the workers would grab shovels and begin excavating suspicious-looking mounds or hollows. Inside, there were usually traces of ancient stone structures: black, cracked stones, fragments of stucco and bas-reliefs, and, though rarely, stone tablets with hieroglyphs carved into them. Then Petros would sit on a nearby stump or right on the ground, put on his glasses, and call for Rita.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  "It’s difficult," he said during one of the rests, when they, exhausted by the sun, tanned to bronze and dripping with sweat, lay resting in the shade of an oak grove. According to the map, they were only about forty miles south of Nubelrain. August was beginning, summer was in full swing, and they were cut off from the world, hurrying through deserted lands to learn the latest news from Nalvin and Surrel. "Very difficult script, these ancient Nocturns used. And time hasn’t helped either. But I think I understand the gist."

  "And what is it?" Kairu asked, lying on the ground, chewing a bitter blade of grass and squinting in the sun.

  "We’re traveling the road in reverse. Apparently, after building the first shrine, the one the rails lead to, they started erecting smaller temples and churches. This route is something like a pilgrimage trail. The holy road."

  He jumped up, tossed aside a stone tablet, muttered something in the Nocturn language, received a short reply from the workers, and then turned to Kairu, Remiz, and Viggo.

  "Down you go, boys. I’ll need your help. Come on. It’s not far."

  Kairu lazily jumped to the ground. The five of them moved away from the ravine where the rails ran. Petros began inspecting the land, pushing aside bushes on the opposite slope, and finally let out a cry of triumph. Behind a thicket of wild shrubs, which they quickly cleared with axes, were moss-covered and worn stone steps leading upward. They climbed, stumbling, muttering curses, scraping their hands bloody on brittle, dry grass stems.

  The wagons remained somewhere behind them, and passing through a series of hills, they finally found a somewhat maintained path leading deeper into the woods, past a row of fallen trees.

  "Take a look," Petros said, pointing. "Some trace of that civilization’s former greatness remains."

  Beneath the moss and grass, one could indeed make out the remnants of paving stones and, at the roadside, marker stones for wagons. They descended into a ravine, moved among misshapen boulders where one could barely discern human shapes, pushed through another thicket of especially dense branches, hacking away sun-dried shoots with swords and axes, and saw what had been hidden from sight for two thousand years.

  "Modern people will be ruined by their total lack of curiosity," Petros said reproachfully. "Just imagine! Such richness right under the nose of contemporary science, and no one even batted an eye to investigate the sanctuaries of the Southern Province!"

  Before them stood a marble pavilion, worn by time, riddled with cracks, entwined with vines of some kind of plant. Seven columns arranged in a circle supported a white dome, decorated with elaborate sculptures of gods and demons. Inside, also arranged in a circle, were marble benches and a tall cubic pedestal at the center. Atop the pedestal stood the statue of a man extending his hand toward the shimmering snowy peaks just barely visible in the distance.

  Petros stepped closer. He looked around. He stepped into the dome’s shadow and slowly approached the pedestal, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the marble. He bent down to read the inscription carved at the statue’s feet.

  "The pavilion is remarkably well preserved," Rita noted.

  "Indeed," Petros replied, straightening up. "Perhaps there were other settlements nearby, destroyed by fire or some other disaster. Or maybe everything else remains buried underground, and this pavilion is the only structure still above ground."

  "So, what does it say?" Viggo yawned.

  "‘Bow your knees at the feet of the Father-Founder and pray on your difficult journey, for this is your first step toward the greatest of the southern shrines.’ Then in smaller letters… ‘In the divine year 728 of the Original Age, since the Creation of Man. Shimoan. This pavilion was built by order of the High Priest of the city of Terlin in honor of the Temple of the Great Aktos, Mount Selinel.’"

  "Terlin," Rita recalled, "that’s the original name of Nalvin..."

  "Correct. I think there will be several such sanctuaries on our path."

  "And Shimoan?"

  "I’ve heard of it... We need to dig deeper here and try to find any chronicles or documents from that city’s era. Rita, would you be so kind as to run and tell our workers to move here? Looks like we’ve got a job to do."

  Petros pulled a rope from his backpack, found some branches, and marked out the approximate search area along the perimeter of the clearing. The Nocturns arrived and began working without a word, digging furiously into the fertile soil of the Southern Province, throwing up heaps of earth and severed roots. Petros observed the work, made notes, and was the first to jump into the pit when several shovels struck stone blocks.

  Twenty people worked with the fervor and zeal of ants, gradually exposing the foundation of one of the ancient city’s buildings. Petros sat on a stone, examining the finds—worn iron hoops likely from rotted barrels, golden figurines that once decorated furniture two thousand years ago. From the steadily growing excavation pits, they pulled out a solid metal chest with gold inlays. This caught Petros’s interest. He descended into the shadowy ruins and personally smashed the lock off the heavy lid with an axe.

  The chest was scratched, covered in centuries of grime, but no soil or water had entered it. From its dark hollow rose the scent of dust, blown off manuscripts bound in snakeskin.

  "Get away, all of you!" Petros barked. "Itra du gashnu!"

  The Nocturns stepped back, returning to their shovels and picks. Petros carefully extracted one of the books, blew the dust off, and cleaned the cover. The gilded letters had already worn away, but the ink inside remained legible. The yellowed pages, tearing at the slightest touch, contained text in the language of the ancient Nocturns.

  "White marble, delivery from Quarry No. 16 – fifty tons.

  Granite, delivery from Quarry No. 31 – twenty-five tons.

  Ship-grade pine, unhewn, delivery from Workshop No. 8 – three hundred feet..."

  "This is a construction log," Rita concluded, walking up and looking over his shoulder.

  "I see. 'Dispatched for construction works No. 4, 5, 6, 7, of the Temple of Aktos in the Selinel Mountains, Vikorte region'... Ah, I know that place. There's a city there now, not far from Nalvin. Excellent, very good. Documents like these are an archaeologist’s best find."

  "Why?" Kairu asked, surprised.

  "Because they don’t lie. Open any religious text—or, Aktos forbid, a chronicle. Out of ten sentences, maybe one contains a fact, and the rest are hearsay, gossip, speculation, what the author heard from someone or made up for dramatic effect or to flatter his superiors. But documents like these were kept very meticulously. Thirty years ago, it was exactly these kinds of records that led me to very important results."

  "Are you now searching for the same thing you were back then, thirty years ago?" Rita asked quietly.

  "Not exactly. Back then, we were looking for the cause. Now—the consequence. I’m almost certain that they don’t appear randomly, but rather at specific points every time the diamond activates. Everything pointed to that."

  "Who are they?"

  Petros looked up.

  "If we manage to find it," he said quietly, "I’ll explain. If not, let it remain as it was. Sometimes knowledge can become a weapon worse than ignorance… Rita, do you remember what we agreed upon back in the city?"

  "I remember, Petros."

  "When will you begin? Time is precious."

  "Right now, if you like."

  "Then let’s go. You know, I’m almost certain this used to be a large city. We’ll stay here for a while and try to find the library. What I couldn’t manage at the first site might work here."

  With that, he climbed up to the gazebo, over which the sun was already approaching evening. The Nocturns had dug up half the clearing and were now working on the surrounding bushes, cutting and clearing the area where the remnants of the ancient city might be hidden. The heat had eased somewhat, and white cumulus clouds now dotted the clear blue sky.

  "We need to talk," said Petros, sitting down next to Kairu, Viggo, and Remiz.

  "Oh really?" Viggo scoffed. "The great and all-knowing Petros decided to share his secrets with us?"

  "Not quite," the professor snorted. "This concerns the defense of Nalvin, which very likely will need to happen soon. If all the rumors about a pirate attack aren’t a joke—and I don’t believe they are—then the city will be attacked, and this whole area will become a war zone. I still need you, and I don’t want you to die in the crossfire. The problem is, our path now inevitably leads us to Nalvin, and I have no choice, I can’t turn back now. If I do, the entire region will fall under pirate control, and I won’t reach my goal until the war ends, and it could drag on for a very long time. I hope we’ll have time to enter the city and leave before anything starts, but it's best if you’re prepared to defend yourselves. If we run into a pirate squad, they’ll definitely try to kill us. And I absolutely need Kairu to stay alive."

  "Why?" Kairu asked.

  "You are the Seer. And the Lake of Aktida must belong to you. In truth, you're the only person in the world capable of unlocking the diamond’s full potential. I’ll explain everything later. For now, just remember this: for Aktos’ sake, stay out of fights and away from combat. And all of you," he looked at Viggo, Remiz, and Rita, "must protect him."

  "I can protect myself," Kairu said, blushing.

  "Really? Are you sure? You have a sword. But a sword’s purpose is to kill. To spill blood."

  "I’ve had to…" Kairu began uncertainly.

  "Animals. Undead. In self-defense. That’s easier, trust me. But can you go up against a real opponent who’s skilled with a blade and has a far better chance of killing you than an enraged turand? Against a turand, you had agility and speed. Against a pirate, you need skill. You need to learn to fight—and to kill, because it's inevitable."

  "And who’s going to teach me?" Kairu asked grimly. "You?"

  "Why would I? Rita will."

  Kairu blushed. Viggo burst out laughing. Rita abruptly stood up and barked:

  "Cut it out, clown! I couldn’t stand your antics back in Petista either! Have you forgotten who I am?"

  Viggo went silent. He blinked nervously and said pleadingly, barely suppressing a wide grin that kept threatening to break out:

  "Just not another slap. I can endure fire and sword torture, but a slap wounds my dignity… Ha-ha-ha! Oh, I can’t! Kairu, what a mess you’ve gotten yourself into..."

  "Shut up, do me a favor," Kairu said. Rita stepped back, still glaring fiercely at the laughing Kald. Then she took a deep breath, calmed herself, and said coldly:

  "Petros is right. It’s an art that must be learned. I was taught long ago, and now, apparently, it's my turn to teach..."

  She drew her sword, always dangling at her belt, flipped it, swung, and sliced the air with a whistle.

  "Want to try?"

  "I won’t say no." Kairu grinned and stood, drawing his sword.

  "Feet," Rita pointed her blade toward him. "You always need to correctly and precisely balance your weight, shifting it to the right foot at the right time. Otherwise, a simple strike can disarm and drop you. The sword adds weight to your right side, and you need to compensate to stay balanced. Watch me."

  She took a stance, gripping her sword with both hands. Kairu carefully mimicked her movement, surprised at himself. Viggo whispered to Remiz:

  "That’s exactly how they trained us at the Fighters' Guild."

  "There are several basic moves," Rita said. "These are the fundamentals. A downward slash, an upward one, diagonal strikes, a thrust, a side slash, and one from a spin. You must consider the distance between you and your opponent, maintain technique and composure, and most importantly—don’t be afraid to injure or even kill."

  "Of course," Kairu nodded seriously.

  "And you must be able to defend yourself too. There are blocks, like this one,"—she demonstrated as she spoke—"and aggressive defense techniques, where you try to overwhelm the opponent with quick, harsh attacks."

  "Got it." Kairu tried to copy her.

  "And fencing itself is about correctly combining these moves once you notice a weakness… Wait. I told you to watch your balance! You're leaning too far and putting all your weight on one leg. A skilled fencer—and most pirates are—could take your leg off right away, and a second later, your head."

  "Then show me so I get it."

  "Watch."

  Rita slashed, spun forward, took a step without even a hint of imbalance, chopped from the shoulder, turned again, and twirled her blade, tracing intricate shapes in the air.

  Kairu had seen something similar, though many times faster, in the crypt when she fought the lich.

  "Defend yourself!"

  He instinctively raised his sword, blocking the overhead strike. The blades clashed, ringing, and the hilt vibrated so much he almost dropped it. Rita struck again from the other side, circling him. He blocked again at the last moment, but his arms had already started memorizing the rhythm.

  She hit harder, then with quick jabs, barely grazing his shirt if he failed to parry, steadily driving him to the edge of the clearing while commenting:

  "You're tensing too much. You’ll tire quickly. Better. Faster, don’t overextend, don’t waste energy! That wasn’t bad. You're just using brute force. Fencing isn’t club bashing, it’s about agility and speed. That’s it. Like that. Ha!"

  Kairu’s back hit a tree. Retreating under her attacks, he had stopped watching the terrain. With a swift move, Rita struck upward and knocked the sword from his hands, then lightly placed her blade to his chest. Viggo applauded.

  "And what if that wasn’t a tree, but a cliff’s edge?" she asked. "Or a real opponent with a sword, or a spear? You have to consider those possibilities too."

  "And how, exactly?" Kairu wiped sweat from his forehead and bent to pick up his sword. "When all I can think about is not getting cut in half? One wrong turn of the head, and I’m dead!"

  "That’s what I’m going to teach you for the next month. How not to end up dead in any life situation."