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Unlock the sealed chamber. Hear the voice that should never have spoken.
In a castle older than memory, a restless Zanite prince hears a chant no one else can. Behind chained doors and tentacled guardians lies an orb that holds the most dangerous secret in the universe: the true story of Lorius Midel—once a mortal boy in 1700s Soudan, now a legend of fire, mist, and betrayal.
From sun-scorched deserts and slave ships to glittering arenas where boys duel to the death atop winged monsters, Lorius rose from Ordinary to Zanite of the First Order. He mastered powers that could level cities… and made enemies who feared those same powers enough to cage him for centuries.
Now the cage is cracking.
One curious prince.
One forbidden voice.
One truth that could shatter worlds.
Lorius Midel is the first volume of a sweeping fantasy epic packed with breakneck action, ancient mysteries, and the intoxicating cost of immortality. Perfect for fans of high-stakes world-building, anti-heroes who refuse to stay sealed, and stories that ask: What if the ultimate power is also the ultimate threat?
The chant has begun.
Will you listen?
Chapter 1
Soudan- circa 1700- AD
I am light complexioned with dark curly hair, full lips and very brown eyes and this made me stand out as people around were more prone to be of a darker skin tone.
At seven, my face was round and I was shorter than my age mates were. I always was a daydreamer; in my mind, I had travelled round the world. I was anything I desired; from being mega-rich like the merchants that visited our province, to becoming famous like my father. Whatever I desired, my wonderful mind constructed.
Sometimes, I travelled so far my mother would yell out.
“Get up from that couch Miletus and go and find something useful to do.”
I would reply, “I have nothing to do mother, I am done with all my errands.”
“Then go get your scripts or something and quit lying there staring at the roof like you lack ambition.”
Being of an innately stubborn temperament, I sometimes contemplated ignoring her but one look at those eyes and such thoughts sneak the same way they came.
“Yes mother,” I would say.
I always wondered why she would not let me be. One day when I asked her why she always roused me even in my ‘alone time’; she said
“You can always achieve things in your imagination but it is in reality you get your accolades.”
I felt she was just being herself, my mother. I rolled my eyes in a bored manner; a habit I was especially fond of when I felt someone was acting too uptight for my taste.
My family was a large one; four brothers and two sisters; my sisters being the youngest. My father was a very famous doctor, known by rulers and powers all around from across the Niger even up to Egypt. He was obsessed with astrology, which was probably how he came up with my name, as I am sure it was one of the strangest names in the province- while my mother was inclined to craftwork and was quite successful. Overall, I was from a superior family and expected to do well.
My city Kalahash, situated on the southern end of the empire, a city quite vast and close to the Niger, peppered with hills, and sustained grey looking forests. The brown soil was fertile and the people obtained their daily bread through farming, fishing, mining, with a few choice professions like woodcarving, medicine, astrology, hunting, the art of painting….
It was around that time when the Moors faced deposition from power so the province like most of the empire, contained a diverse clutter of peoples as the Tuaregs, the Fulanis and some other groups still clustered together under a dying umbrella. Some were Islamic and some were Animists.
Apart from all the other mosques, a huge mosque stood at the centre of the province close to the market square and we all could hear the voice of the muezzin at dawn, calling faithfuls to observe their morning prayers.
I cannot exactly say what religion my family believed in because they were not exactly religiously inclined; although, my father originated from an Islamic background; he had once claimed that he was friends with the true God, but then my father said many strange things.
The fashion also, was diverse, as there were those that dressed in flowing white robes with a small cap or turban. The women that would cover themselves from head to toe, then those that wore no tops but tied wrappers around their waists and marked their bodies with artful symbols representing their tribes, then there was the group I liked; these wore black robes with fitting trousers and black turbans. They carried long swords and I remember they belonged to the Tuareg group.
And of course, the priests as we were a very superstitious people too and believed that gods and sprits resided in the rivers and special hills which were responsible for fertility, protection from invaders amongst other things. I, personally, was not superstitious by nature and did secretly scorn the priests and their so-called gods.
The market square was vast and ever busy, with merchants who had travelled across the Sahara coming to display their wares. There was the slave section where traders chained slaves together, neck-to-neck for prospective buyers to examine. The execution square shared the same neighbourhood and crowds had gathered several times to watch many heads fall off at the executioner’s blade.
Everyone could speak Arabic, as it was the main language although there were other popular languages like Bambara and Fulfulde. My family could speak the Arabic and Fulani (Fulfulde) languages fluently and I was part Moorish (my father) and part Peul.
Now the art of woodcarving had always fascinated me so on the day of the third new moon, when my father asked me to accompany him to Namibie’s place to pick up some wooden stools he had purchased earlier, I eagerly agreed.
Namibie was a renowned wood carver and had carved the drums used at the ram festival, which the city held every ten moons. I held the drums in higher esteem than the festival itself. When activities of the festival were going on, I was prone to wander off to some quiet place where I could indulge in my daydreams.
One time, I wandered so deep into the forest and lost track of time. I even fell asleep on a tree. Meanwhile, my whole family was had worked themselves into a state of anxiety; as it was almost midnight and I was nowhere to be found.
How baffled I was when I arrived the next morning to find my mother sporting a full-blown rage and my father would not even look at me. I tried to relay the fact to them that I never really was in any danger but they would hear nothing of it.
Now back to the subject. Forgive me, if I tend to move too far away from the topic at hand. You see, it is a long story and as I talk, I tend to remember events and feelings, which the passing time has buried. But I would try to give you every portion of the story…it is important that you see my perspective of things.”
Although the prince had never visited earth, he could yet understand the concepts the voice tried to portray; his Zanite heritage allowed him glean the mind to uncover the obscure.
“Yea so I followed my father to the wood carver’s workshop,” the voice continued. “It was to me like walking into one of the best fantasies ever. I must have had a funny look because my father appraised me with a faint smile. Namibie spotted us from afar and was very happy to see us, more like honoured actually; it was not every day a personality like my father visited his shop.
I remember him as a man who some unknown thing perpetually puzzled, as he always did squeeze his face in a rather funny way.
He personally ushered us in and gave us a glistening ornately carved bench to sit on. The craft of the bench fascinated me and I went on to study rather too painstakingly the shape of the legs of the bench, the intricate designs on the sides….then I noticed that the carver and my father, both watched me.
“Father takes you out with him and you pull this off…very shrewd Miletus” I inwardly scolded myself. They both turned away, however, and continued their conversation. I sat still and tried to concentrate on what they were saying…no point. My eyes had caught on a beautifully carved lion. The wood carver had caught the sublimely snob expression that only a lion could portray.
I was really impressed as I walked up to it to study it a bit more closely, perhaps to see whether the carver had caught details only someone like me would bother to look for- well the lion seemed to have passed my test. I then announced that I would like to purchase the lion.
As I expected, Namibie was very delighted and told me I could have it for no cost at all. This was one of the main reasons I enjoyed going out with my father-you see, because my father was popular, people tended to fawn around him and as a devout opportunist, I made sure I enjoyed the benefits of their near obsequious behaviour to the fullest.
We had spent a considerable amount of time there as the sun was beginning to rise directly overhead showing that it was nearly noon.
My father rose to his full height of about six foot three inches. I had always found this height intimidating and admired the beard he sported. It gave him a sort of aristocratic look, although, I did not know it at the time. I just knew that I liked the beard. Unlike me, he was not light complexioned but had a rather bronze coloured skin; my complexion I inherited from my mother.
He said a few more things to Namibie but I was too enthralled with my lion to pay any attention. I remember the wood carver straightening up as if he was trying to look taller; the notion amused me and increased my admiration of my father.
The carver had ordered his apprentice to bring some donkeys to take the stools to our home. My father and I, then walked away, this time to a weapon’s store to purchase a bow for my brother Traore, who had been nagging throughout the week that he wanted a cross bow.
Traore felt that he had outgrown catapults and mere bows and wanted the real thing. If one heard him ranting, one would not realize that this boy had only witnessed thirteen moons pass five times- this was how we counted our ages. At that time I had seen thirteen moons pass seven times so I was approximately seven years of age.
Well we got to the weapons store and there was not so much fawning here, as the hunters were the ones who sold weapons and considered themselves equal in rank to physicians.
Nevertheless, my father was welcomed warmly as he was popular and was a friend of Alini the shopkeeper. Alini was a renowned hunter and was one of the best weapon makers in the province; he also possessed immense wealth, as he was a merchant.
He was a tall man with a strong bony face. His most striking feature was his hair, which he had braided into dreadlocks that, coupled with his bony face, made him look dangerous- overall he was a good-looking man.
He smiled at us and asked what brought us to his humble store in a teasing fashion. My father smiled and said he wanted a crossbow.
“Well you have come to the right place.” Alini had said in a somewhat dramatic fashion “as everything sold here is of superior quality.”
“Take a look at this one,” he said pointing to a new crossbow hanging on a wooden rack. I was not a good judge of weapons but it was obvious that this was a superior bow judging by the material of the strings. It was also attractive too. I was beginning to regret not asking for a bow myself. Alini turned to me and said
“Physician’s heir, please accept this gift from Me.” in the same teasing manner he used to address my father. It was a beautiful pocketknife although the blade was longer than a foot long. The handle was brown in colour and had the figure of an angel embellished on it.
I remember smiling at the irony of having a holy being engraved on something so obviously lethal. I appreciated the gift and thanked him in the same teasing manner he had adopted when he gave me the knife. He smiled and turned to my father.
“What an interesting young one you have here.”
The purchases of the day finally ended and we came home at mid noon to find Traore, my angelic looking little brother, sitting on the veranda of the main building, eagerly anticipating his crossbow.
Believe me when I say that my description of him is rather accurate. Even though we had a strong resemblance, it was by a stroke of luck that he was not an albino, for his curly hair was very light brown and when my face was yet round, his; was slim and long; but altogether, his bright skin tone and golden hair made a rather appealing combination.
Now in those days, heaven would have to have come crashing before I gave my brother such a description and perhaps I only remember him so fondly because it is a long time ago.
As soon as he sighted us, he sprang up from the bench and dashed towards us. I let my father go through the ordeal and went in to meet my mother.
She was outside, at the back of the building, where the kitchen was, and the then last born Yo`u tormented her in all his infantile fury. She saw me come in and beamed a wonderful smile at me, but I was no fool and knew she was only trying to charm me into inheriting the little bundle of headaches.
The little imp had refused to be carried by any of my mother’s handmaidens. Ultimately, I decided to oblige her and after rolling my eyes in a bored manner, picked up Yo`u who did immediately burst out into loud shrieks and wails. I shoved some pieces of nuts in his mouth and he had to shut up for a while. After playing with him for some time, a very difficult task, as his idea of fun was quite different from mine, I left for my room.
The room like every other room in my father’s house was big. It was also lower than the corridors of the house so that one would have to step down when entering it. Most of the houses in the province were built this way. It did not help cleaning in the morning though, as I always had a rather difficult time getting dirt out into the corridor (I rarely allowed the slaves into my room).
I went straight to bed, which was made of feathers and hay well wrapped in a clean woven bed sheet. The head of the bed was elevated with cabinets at the base close to the mattress. The cabinets had doors, which all responded to one key. It was in these cabinets I kept all the important stuff I did not want Traore to get his hands on, as I was aware of the fact that he sometimes visited my room during my absence.
I sat on my bed and admired my knife; then I went to the corner of the room and with the aid of a metal thong, heated a spiral shaped metal and pressed it on the handle of my knife. The knife was marked- it was now mine.
Traore jumped into my room; of course to gloat and show off his latest piece of weaponry as if I was not there when it was purchased. I sat calmly looking at him and after a few moments decided to tease him.
“Traore surely you are aware of the fact that you do not know how to use a crossbow.”
He looked at me, confused; you see, Traore was a prodigy and excelled at anything he gave his heart to. He rarely missed a target within a thousand yards! A record not many adults could boast of and here I was telling him he could not use a crossbow.
He resumed his gloating obviously forgiving me for my slip. Well I was not interested in watching him prance about. I wanted some time alone so I drove him out of my room. Of course, this was not an easy task and it involved fierce scuffles peppered with enough insults.
I did not fail to notice his rapid maturation; I also did not fail to feel threatened by it.
What was life turning into, I had inwardly wondered. The day I failed to defeat, Traore is the day I leave this house and in fact the province, and with such thoughts, I put my back into the struggle and eventually managed to break his balance and floor him. Once his back hit the floor, he did surrender and left the room with a grin in his eyes. It was obvious he had noticed the amount of effort I had put into this fight and of course he was pleased with himself; since in his reasoning, this meant that he would soon be equal to me in strength or even become stronger.
I went to bed with a heavy heart and for the next few days I was in the doldrums and just kept on brooding. I started to notice that my brother fared better than I; at, well, virtually everything.
He was even growing rapidly and people including my parents saw him as the stronger one or as they delicately put it:
“Traore is the more volatile of the two, Miletus is the delicate type.”
Hell, why could they not just come out and say it, ‘Miletus is introverted and soft hearted while Traore has a warrior’s personality’.
My mother once came to ask me why I always seemed to brood, ‘these days’’; and this question had only succeeded in adding fuel to my fire.
“Mother,” I answered, “we both know that I am introverted and enjoy spending my time alone…so what makes you ask me this question when my behaviour is not odd?”
She sighed “yes I know you like to dream, but you usually look happy when doing so,” she said “these days you look moody as though something is weighing down on your mind,” she waited a bit and then asked.
“So what is the matter Miletus?”
“Nothing is wrong mother,” I answered.
“Oh so I’m a liar now, huh?” she had asked; her voice actually rising as she adjusted her headscarf. You see my mother had a volatile temper. I decided to just tell her and save myself the irksomeness.
Now the problem was, I did not know where to start- saying it aloud just made it seem stupid so I tried to make light of it.
“Mother, forget about it; it is but one of these moods…it is nothing important.”
“It has caused you to brood son; you’ve already given it enough importance. Now by the heavens, spit it out!”
“Since you persist on this mother,” I said, wishing she would just let me be.
“The thing is…I feel weak”
“You feel weak?”
“Yes mother, I feel very weak and umm…not good enough. Everyone else is better than I am at everything and I can’t find something that I’m good at” I spat out and sighed shyly; her grey eyes were penetrating me and I could feel some steam coming out of my ears. Her long silence did not help either, as I could feel my mortification gradually increase. Perhaps I should not have said so much.
Then she spoke “I cannot believe this nonsense I’m hearing.” I did not lift up my head. She placed a hand on my back.
“You are a very shrewd young man; you easily grasp ideas and understand things when you are taught. You have a good memory; in fact you rarely forget anything,” she said, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“It is Traore is it not? You feel inadequate just because he is good at the bow, huh?” she asked.
“Not just the bow, mother…everything…he is good at everything.” she looked at me and smiled.
“Yea Traore is a prodigy and seems to be excellent at everything. But nothing is constant you know, besides people are fickle minded. You may do something in the future that will make you popular and adored and then some other person may find himself in this same mood you find yourself right now, complaining and saying ‘Miletus is so lucky, he has everything going for him ah! His life is so rosy, I envy him’ he would have no idea of the fact that you once spent days brooding and pitying yourself.”
So what she said made some sense to me and then she continued.
“You do not even realize it Miletus, but Traore looks up to you and he has his own fears and doubts about himself, simply because no one is perfect.
You should look for what you are good at, mind you, I am sure there is a lot of stuff suitable for you, and you should work hard at it, so as to gain mastery of it. I do not ever want to see you go through an episode of self-pity again because the best person you can be, is you.”
Having said that, she patted me on the back and left the room.
I thought on what she said for a long time and knew not when I dosed off. When I awoke, the house was quiet, rather too quiet so I came out of my room to see if anyone was home.
It appeared I was alone for even the servants were nowhere to be found. I figured Traore had gone to hunt with the hunters. It was usual of him to accompany them, as he enjoyed any opportunity to use a weapon and at the same time, show-off his prowess. He was allowed to do this because he was the second born.
In Kalahash, the first child of a man took after his father’s profession and was taught all the secrets of the trade. It was uncommon for a first child to show interest in another field as this was seen as irresponsible behaviour or even as spying; if I presumed to display nearly as much interest as my brother’s, well, such an action could easily arouse the hunter’s suspicion.
He may even go further to think that my father had put me up to it with the intention of stealing his secrets. Each man was jealous of his trade because this was what stratified our society.
All this was making a mountain out of a molehill in my opinion.
We had an overall King whose word was law and he was the brother of the emperor. But concerning the province of Kalahash, there was a ruling council answerable to the King of course. The council consisted of twenty members, ten princes, five hunters, four merchants and a physician.
My father was the physician at that time and because he was the only physician on the council, had the power of five votes. Every year, the King allowed the council to submit a bill and because of the power my father possessed, whenever members of the council wanted to pass a new law, they tried their best to get my father on their side, as this would really help to ensure that the votes swing in their favour.
This usually happened when non-royal members of the council had a difference in opinion with the members of the royal family; that is the ten princes. The princes would then try to curry favour from my father, likewise the non- royal ones. Whichever faction that wins in the end would then pass the bill to the King.
Due to the power of my father’s votes, he was called the Saif; a position envied by other members of the council. He wore a golden bracelet on his right hand to signify his status.
A physician did not always hold this position. In fact this position was determined by the people’s vote and once someone was voted as Saif, say a physician for example, no other physician was then allowed to run for such a position, as the Saif must be the only representative of his profession on the council; this was the law.
The position was for life. So I was more or less a prince as my father was the second most powerful man in the province (except perhaps for the Quadi(judge) who also possessed a lot of influence) and almost always moved around in an entourage of black clad guard (Elites); perhaps as a by-product of his position; he was immensely affluent.
Now back to the story. Yea I awoke and found that the house was deserted, save perhaps the guards that stood at the gates and various spots in the large compound; and it was almost nightfall. I walked outside and looked towards the slave quarters; a gathering of small huts, joined by a thin corridor and could see some children sitting down on the veranda. Then I looked around, admiring the compound at night, how the floor almost reflected the moonlight, at the cattle grazing in the moonlit field, at all the ten buildings in the compound, with at least one figure dressed in black, stalking them.
I felt the cool breeze waft around the premises and watched the grass sway in the field as a cow swished its tail; it was paradise.
This old memory of myself appraising my father’s compound that night sometimes appears to me and I wonder why it made such an impression on my tender mind then.
I went and sat on a chair in the parlour watching how the firelight merged with the beautiful moonlight. The soft, cool breeze flowed through the slightly open windows, I would have dozed off, when I remembered my knife.
A strong urge came upon me to learn how to use it, and to become adept at using it, like my brother Traore was good at using the bow. But what use shall I create for it- shall I use it to carve wood? No, it was not made for carving.
I impetuously picked up a plank lying in the quadrangle of the front house. And with pieces of red and white chalks, went on create a target.
I then placed the target on a pole in the courtyard, moved six steps away from it and started to take aims with my knife.
The first try was horrible and my knife flew so wide, no one would believe the target was what I was trying to hit in the first place. The second, third and twentieth tries were not much better than the first and when I finally hit the target, the force was not enough to pierce the plank; making the knife to fall rather mockingly to the floor.
I spent about two hours there and made very little progress. But the thing about activities like this is that, one always has the feeling that he’s almost there- just one more try and I would make it. And it could go on and on and on.
Then, I heard the unmistakable footstep of Traore as he entered the compound, for the compound was paved all around except for the fields so it was possible to hear footsteps.
I quickly took the target inside, kept my knife in its place and jumped on my bed, pretending still to be asleep. No one must know this, I told myself. I had found a new hobby other than daydreaming.
As the days went by, I spent a lot of time in the forest. There was a hidden place I found in the forest deep in the woods and I was obviously the first explorer to claim the land as I could find no tracks and all the fruits around were either ripe on the trees or on the ground rotting for lack of some enterprising individual to pluck them.
Well I had found this place first, so it was mine, my little kingdom with the trees, the rabbits and everything as my subjects.
I carved targets on almost all the trees around and even climbed up to carve higher and more difficult ones. Then I practiced like there was some war at hand, spending about four hours every day aiming the targets. I came now later than Traore. My mother noticed this change and asked me where I always spent my time.
I would answer, “Daydreaming in the forest,” or “shell collecting with my friends.”
She would stare at me for some time and then ask Traore about his day. Traore would give a detailed story; about how he caught sight of a rabbit, how he and all his friends had taken aim, how his arrow was the swiftest and most accurate. He could go on and on, and then he would sneer at me.
“Daydreaming huh, I think you should become a mid-wife.” my mother would burst out laughing and then Yo`u would do something stupid or annoying to gain attention.
My father usually returned just after the sun had set and of course Traore would give him the same story he told my mother whether he asked or not, with Yo`u babbling at the same time as if he had anything worthwhile to say. My father, no matter how tired he was, would smile and pick up Yo`u while listening attentively to Traore. When Traore was satisfied, he would beam a smile at Traore, telling him how proud he was of him. He would then turn to me and inquire about my days proceedings. Not wanting to reveal my secret, I would simply answer
“It was fine.” then after a moment of awkward silence he would say something like
“Oh well, umm that’s good. Uh i am famished.” and that would be all. I would linger around after the evening meals for some time and then faze away to my room, lock the door and start aiming a target I kept in my room.
Every third day, a tutor came to the house to teach us mathematics and some other subjects; my father would have his sons be learned, this was something he was very firm on since we rarely bothered to visit the Madrasa; that is the mosque school.
Sometimes I stayed in the parlour with the rest of the family or played with my brother in his room. His room was forever in a state of blissful disarray; in fact he slept on his clothes, claiming that they made his bed cosier and when I commented, he would accuse me of being too girlish and advise me to ‘lion up’.
One night he picked a talisman and showed it to me. It was fashioned in gold.
“This is a gift Muna gave to me; she says I am the bravest boy she has ever come across. No girl would give you a gift because you have the heart of a woman.”
I affected a nonchalant attitude but I had consequently lost interest in the game we had been playing and soon found a reason to retire to my room.
The truth, as you might have guessed, is that I was slightly jealous; Muna was to me then, the prettiest girl in the province. I did not carry a flame for her exactly but I felt slighted that she would acknowledge my brother who was younger, and not me.
…….
It had been two years since I got that knife and I was nine going to ten. Traore was seven years at the least- fully my height now and slighter bigger than I was. I was not skinny but I was not muscular either; like Lameer a mutual friend of Traore and I, who looked too mature for a boy only thirteen. My knife throwing skills had increased exponentially and I rarely missed a target within fifty feet from me. Whenever I practiced in the forest, I hit the centre of the target thirty-five out of forty times. I was an expert now. It
had gotten so easy.
Sometimes, I faced another side and used my left hand and still succeeded in making a perfect aim or close enough. I decided to take my training to the next level. I took some gold from my cabinet, purchased ten knives from the weapons store, and marked them as usual.
When I went to the forest, I placed four targets in a row and three in a vertical row above the four targets. Then I would count my steps making sure I was at least fifty steps away.
This was well within my range- chalk it up to years of dedication. I placed four knives between four fingers of my right hand and then hurled the knives at the targets. Only one of the four knives hit any of the targets.
To me this was encouraging, as I never thought it would be possible to hurl knives like that. I was now training at a higher level and spent even more time in the forest so that I started to arrive later than my father did.
This was the slow leisurely pace of my life for my first fourteen years.
At fourteen, the creator blessed me with a few extra inches in height. I was taller than Traore now who was taller than boys his age.
It is from this age that the strange sequence of my life started to manifest and so therefore, I shall go right to the first occurrence, the beginning of it all.
Chapter 2
Action in the Woods
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