Eyes of the Forgotten, page 1
EYES OF THE FORGOTTEN
GIFTS OF THE GOLDEN SEA BOOK I
WILL PIZII
Copyright © 2025 by Will Pizii
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the
prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who
may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper,
magazine, or journal.
This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters in the work to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Map
Prologue
Art
The Book of Adrian
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Art
The Book of Darrea
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
The Book of the Delivered One
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
About the Author
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This project would not exist without the help of my amazing editors and proofers, Paul, Allyson, and Michael. This story would read very differently if not for them, and I am so thankful for their guidance and criticism. I also must thank my cover artist Izaak, who brought the Knossos wall painting that inspired this entire story to life in such a beautiful and epic way.
To my family, my friends, and all those who believe in me and who remember me.
PROLOGUE
The flowering of civilization blossomed from seedlings of talent. And so talent laid roads for the rise of them all. Each race, each people, grew in their own way, and as is the way of man, greed and power soon followed. Because of the propensity of my people, their innate ability to recognize and develop their houlas, we advanced too quickly. And now the conquerors descend upon us. All of them. Though through our ruin, I see in my visions of flame, retribution:
The foreseer harbors the eyes of the forgotten, passing through fire to destiny, and gaining godly power. When the West rises in the East in a new land, a second age will come. The Delivered One will have the strength to conquer tyranny and right the chaos of the world. A southern flame will guide the way.
This I have written for its recipients to keep secret until they have found the One. And one day, the many magi of Myrios will blossom again.
The golden-eyed oracle etched her last cuneiform symbol into the clay tablet. And with a final breath, she imbued upon it all her magic, all the prophetic power that she possessed, and died with smoke in her lungs and war cries in her ears.
THE BOOK OF ADRIAN
ONE
At the very west of the known world, facing the vast Storm Sea that led to the Unknown, or to the god’s doorsteps as some may want to believe, the city that was the last to see the setting sun stood tall and resolute. The Valtosian settlement, Rodak, housed a queer break of tradition. That city that sat at the feet of the God’s Gulf on the west coast of the peninsula had lived only a few centuries. A new city. An unorthodox city. But within its boundaries lived a jewel beneath the dirt.
Adrian awoke below the great cliff of Rodak in his grass hut. Rella and Eru still breathed deeply and had not stirred. Adrian crawled to the doorway so as not to wake his friends and looked west. Rodak’s territory began at the sea. Adrian gazed on the dirt road that led straight to it, curving through the grassy plain. This road would lead to the docks, connecting the water with its city. And just behind him, the great cliff, where atop lived his lord and owner, Gideon.
The city of Rodak took shape first there, at the palace, on the cliff’s precipice, and around the palace lived its wealthier, natural-born citizens. Each rung of the city, as it descended, changed: the architecture, the money, the people. Walk to the top of Rodak and there would be Valtosian natives, with their clay-red skin, straight black hair, and deep dark eyes—the most powerful race of the city and the country. And then, at the very bottom, by the arched entrance around the bend and beneath the cliff, there would be Pesh freedmen and Pesh slaves, like Adrian and his friends.
His race had sand-colored skin, commonly brown eyes, and dark curly hair, features originally from a land east, a component lost somewhere on the northern coast of the Golden Sea. His people used to be Peshmen of the city Myrios. There were not many who knew the truth of their shameful exile, but many in Valtos knew the generosity of the historic king who accepted those refugees into his realm. Long ago, King Marlo agreed to host the displaced Peshmen on the west coast of his country, at the behest of the rest of the nations in the Golden Sea. As bargained, the Peshmen offered a third of their people as slaves to King Marlo as a gift; and so, the Peshmen settled and built up Rodak beneath the authority of the native Valtosians.
In those moments looking at the dark blue sky of the morning, Adrian remembered the nightmare he had awoken from. Trying to avoid it, he brushed off the dirt from his rags and rubbed his eyes before standing beneath the threshold of his hut, which was held up by wooden beams. The summer grasses were turning brown on other mounds. Row after row, the slave homes ran facing the sea. In the distance he heard the bells chime from the docks, and near him he heard the roosters crow—the slaves’ wake-up call.
Adrian nudged Eru and Rella. Adrian splashed his face with water from their pail and flicked some at Eru. He groaned and rolled over, while Rella stood up and helped motivate Eru to get up. She must have been awake already.
They left their hut along with the other slaves. The mutts trotted, barking, throughout the village, and rolled with the children in the grasses. The babes and the elders stayed behind while the rest of the slaves poured out of their green cottages and walked along the dirt path they had trod so many times before. The road was guarded and split three ways: north to the orchards, west to the docks, and south, which would eventually loop around to the city at its entrance. At the crossroads, the guards wore bright, painted helmets and carried bronze-tipped spears.
Adrian and his den, along with most of the slaves, traveled the north road. Only a mile away they could see the orchards and the farms along the flat lands.
“It’s a hot one today, no?” Eru said.
“Hotter than usual,” Adrian said. “But we shouldn’t complain or else our work will show it.”
“I can’t believe we still must tend to the orchards,” Rella said. Eru and Adrian glanced over in shock. Rella gestured to Adrian and said, “You’re a man grown. Twenty as of a few moons ago.” Then to Eru she said, “And you are the tallest Pesh beneath the cliff. Why must we continue to the orchards after all these years? We should be processed, delegated to the tasks that we can be of most use. Eru should be building, and Adrian should be…”
“Should be?” Adrian asked. But no answer came, and Rella crossed her arms.
“We must go to the orchards because we are bid there.” said Eru. “You and I know that what work they assign us is valuable. Without us, this city would be a ruin. To serve is part of our culture.”
Rella ran her fingers through her curly, chestnut hair. “What culture?” she asked. “Our nation fell hundreds of years ago. Any culture we have has been hijacked by the Valtosians.”
“You’ve been talking with that old hag by the well,” Adrian said. “She’s planting sins in your mind.”
“Grandmother Thena is no hag. She actually thinks for herself. She questions the officials and stumps them.”
“She’s a cracked native who wants you for her own servant. She speaks to you about such things since she lacks the means to buy you. Quit acting like such a gullible woman.” Adrian regretted his words after hearing her whimper. Rella ran ahead to join the other women. Adrian looked at Eru, and they both lowered their heads. Silence followed, and only sweat and dirt occupied them the rest of their walk.
Those thousands of Pesh, clothed in rags and tattered, dirty tunics, trudged farther. Lord Gideon’s orchards spanned over hills and fields, diverse with rich fruit and grain. Sugar cane, sweet corn, beans, oranges, lemons, and peaches each filled their own plot. Rodak guards, some Peshmen but mostly Valtosian, supervised each crop segment.
Adrian noticed there were fewer guards of his race this day. Any commoner in Valtos could distinguish a native man from a Peshman. Even after the sun reddened or tinted the fairer, sand-shaded Pesh skin, one could look at their curled hair and see they were no native. Any fashionable Valtosian wore their pitch-black hair down, straight and long below their shoulders.
Adrian, Eru, and the rest of the slaves passed through the cattle ranches on their way to the orchards. Freedme n lived on the outer edges of these fields, tending the cattle. Goats, chickens, and hogs roamed about these farmlands, but the cows and bulls lived in luxury, segregated from the rest and given sacred treatment, in accordance with Valtosian custom. The free farmers pampered, fattened, and studded every bull they could. Few were ever sacrificed in the name of their gods. The Valtosians praised those animals.
Eru tugged at Adrian. “Look at that one!” he said as he pointed to a behemoth bull. His pale horns curled up above his broad head, and his coat was patched with blotches of white and russet, like a clay pot or a ripe peach. He stood magnificent, unmoving, and watchful over his heifers. He was the largest these two had ever seen.
“How did they keep that one hidden in the pens? He is a monster! This must be his first stud.”
Adrian’s eyes widened. “That one surely will dance.”
“He may, but who in the city can leap that high?”
Adrian had always wanted to see the ritual Bull Games. The very best runners and athletes in the city trained for those games. There were three events: the Chase, Collect the Bells, and the Dance, favored by most. As a young lad, Adrian and his friends ran through the city and admired the murals on the outer walls of the temples and palace. He would dream about the dancers flying over the horned creature, spinning and flipping in the air. Though Adrian could never attend. The native priests only held the Bull Games during harvest, the slaves’ busiest season, when the days were hot and clear. And even so, those of low birth were shooed away.
“Keep moving,” a guard shouted, snapping his whip. Adrian and Eru scurried back into the crowd.
The guards corralled the slaves into the orchards. They divided them between the peach and the orange plots. Eru and Adrian were some of the oldest mixed among the younger ones who entered the peach orchards nearby the stables. They picked up their wicker baskets by the gates, while the older adult slaves continued their walk farther north to the orange trees.
They plucked peach after peach and placed their harvest into their baskets throughout the morning. All Lord Gideon’s fruit grew heavy, sweet, and in great number—enough to spare for the slaves to bring back to their huts. Often in that season, the slaves left a trail of fallen crop on their way home if there was surplus. Their arms couldn’t manage to hold so much leftover.
As the sun crept higher and the heat swirled, Adrian and Eru removed their garments and tied them about their waists to cover themselves. Sweat drenched them. Adrian’s curly, dark hair folded under its moisture, while Eru’s hair appeared dry, but the rest of him shimmered as if he had fallen in the nearby stream.
Guards shouted from outside the wooden gates for first collection and for midday break. Young slaves queued with their baskets in hand. Not one was empty; so much overflowed, many peaches dropped to the dirt while the slaves marched up the orchard to the delivery carts headed for the city.
Eru and Adrian fell in line. Eru saw Rella ahead. Eight young boys separated their places in the line behind the older girls, who generally stuck together for their pickings. Rella looked back and saw them and quickly turned away.
“She’s still angry at you.”
Adrian looked at Eru with a sneer. “If she keeps chatting with that old goat, we’ll never hear the end of it.”
“You could be a bit nicer.”
“Me? She’s going to get herself a beating.” The line crept forward. “This week it’s our culture, last week she went on about how they treat the bulls better than free men in the city, and the week before that she complained about how our home is too small.”
“I tried to dig out a bit more out of the back.”
“That’s not the point. She’s never content. And the more that hag fills up her head, the more trouble she’ll fall into.”
“Well,” Eru hesitated. “Maybe she’s right about a few things.” Adrian stepped back. “Don’t misunderstand me, she’s been out of sorts, but she’s right about the bulls. And a few months back, she mentioned something about why we were slaves in the first place.”
“Shh! Lessen your voice. That talk will get us whipped.” Adrian said. Eru nodded. “Were you not defending our way of life this morning?” Adrian asked. Eru did not respond, showing his agreeance, so Adrian continued. “And that’s a silly question: We were born slaves. That’s why.”
“No, no, she didn’t mean it like that. She meant why us Peshmen?”
“Eru, children know this: Because that was the price set upon our ancestors by King Marlo. They offered slaves for a home.”
“No, she means why us? Why did our group of Peshmen become slaves? Did our great- great-great-grandfathers commit wrong? Did they offend the gods? Were they to blame for people having to leave their homeland in the first place? Or were they already slaves to begin with?”
Adrian didn’t know what to say. “It—it could have been random, I suppose, or they could have been slaves already, like you said…. Either way, there would be no way of knowing, so what does it matter?”
“I wonder if they keep records of it in the palace,” he said, half speaking to himself.
“Enough—we’re almost up.”
Led by the guards, whips and bronze daggers tied at their waists, they followed the line out of the orchard onto the road and up to the fruit carts. Six carts driven by donkeys and city slaves queued before them, each filling up with peaches. Eru dumped his basket after the boys in front, and Adrian followed him. They gathered with the rest who clustered off the road with empty baskets in hand. After each cart filled, the city slaves drove their donkeys south to Rodak. The guards grabbed up the excess spilled fruit from the dirt and handed each slave two as a kind supplement to their ration later in the day.
“Fence post, green eyes.” The Valtosian guards mocked the pair of them and gave them their allotted treat. Adrian clenched his fists and dropped his emerald eyes to the dirt.
“Find some shade, and wait for the bell.” A simple command and quickly acted on. The children scurried into the stables or underneath wild trees that scattered the plantation.
Eru and Adrian found a spot underneath a maple near the stables. Eru was very adamant about this particular maple since the girls typically hovered close to where the animals would go. With their backs against the trunk of the tree, they bit into their juicy meal and it refreshed them from the heat. Adrian finished his two first, stood up, and threw a pit at Eru, hitting him square in the forehead.
Adrian had always been a talented thrower. When he was younger, he would choose the straightest stick he could find and mimic the paintings of warriors throwing their spears.
Eru threw his second peach with just a few bites from it in retaliation but missed. It dribbled past Adrian in the dirt. They met eyes and sprinted after it.
Eru stood taller, was older, and was much stronger than Adrian, but Adrian was quicker. He snatched the peach from the dirt and wheeled around the stables in front of the girls sitting in its shadow. Eru trailed, less inclined to continue childish games in front of them, but Adrian didn’t care. He ran past the stables, trying to brush the dust off the bitten portion, and Eru struggled to keep up with his bounding strides.
“Give it back!” Adrian heard behind him.
He turned again away from the stables and along the vast bullpens. He looked behind him and made a face at Eru. Adrian looked ahead—far ahead—and saw a girl with bushy, dark hair at the pen gate. Puzzled, he slowed down nearly to a stop to get a better look.
