by Sharon Gibbs
Athena stopped at the edge of the circle and took the basket from the girl and then turning to face Doran, she took his hand and led him to the ornate silver bowl by the base of the tree. She placed the basket down and looked towards her servants.
‘The time is upon us,’ Athena declared. ‘Tonight your Lord will return.’ She took the herbs and scattered them into the bowl, and then selecting two bottles from the basket she poured their contents over the scented leaves. Lifting a candle from the basket, Athena blew on the wick to ignite it with her magic. She then held it over the ornate bowl, allowing the wax to run down the taper and cover her skin until it finally dripped into the liquid below. As the wax pooled on the surface of the liquid, she chanted the incantation she had memorised from the book she had found in the Prophecy room at the Keep.
Doran watched her magic protrude, first as a glimmer which flickered from her fingers while she breathed life into the words, and as she continued to recite the spell, her magic grew. It crackled, leaping from her hands as the words flew from her tongue. The wax trickled down the taper to combine with her magic as it settled upon her skin. The searing heat of the wax cooled to form a thick, soft layer infused with her ruby essence.
Athena dropped the candle into the liquid and it ignited the substance within the bowl. Flames billowed up and Doran stepped back from the heat of the blaze. Athena then took the stone from the basket and in her hands she coated it in the glimmering wax. The flammable liquid boiled in the bowl, infusing the air with a sweet scent of herbs, and when Athena dropped her Lord’s cold soul into the flames, the stone sank and soaked in the infusion. As the liquid evaporated the flames in the bowl died down and there, left in the bottom of the bowl, lay an orb. It shimmered with life and Athena reached forward to retrieve it, holding it up. Within the once cold dormant stone now rolled the essence of her love. Zute’s essence swirled, rich and revived, and Athena carefully carried the luminous orb over to the tree. As she chanted the final part of the spell the wind whipped up to swirl through the circle, snuffing out the light of the candles and bringing with it the loose litter from nearby. Athena’s gown flapped against her legs and her hair flew about in the gusts.
‘Here and now in the dark of night. I cast this spell to bring you back to light.’ Athena thrust out her arms and continued to chant. Across the skies dark clouds rolled in and hid the moon from sight. The rumble of thunder cascaded above them and lightning shot from the sky, crashing down to earth and striking the nearby trees. Their trunks exploded and burst into flame as the deadly force impaled each one in turn, the sounds of their impact echoing through the darkness accompanied by the storm.
Athena smashed the orb against the trunk of the Tree of Life and Zute’s essence coated its scarred surface. It ran down the bark and trickled onto the soil where it pooled and seeped through the damp earth and continued onwards to bridge the distance between the tree and the realm of the Underlands.
The ground rumbled and vibrated beneath the servants’ feet as the wind, lightning and thunder impaled their senses.
‘From the realm you’ve been bound to, I now set you free,’ Athena shouted above the din. A thunderous crack made the servants jump back in fear as the Tree of Life’s trunk split through the middle, causing each half to wain heavily to the side.
The bridge to the Underlands had formed and the way was open for Zute to return to the realm of the living.
Zute hauled himself up through the roots of the tree, tunnelling his way through the trunk. His touch drew out the essence of life from the tree, increasing the strength of his magic and causing the wood to wither as he crawled through. Drenched with rain from the storm, the soil around the tree loosened, causing the heavy canopy to slip further towards the earth.
Zute emerged from his plane of darkness, back into the realm where he’d once ruled. He pushed a hand through the last splinters of wood and struggled as he thrust his torso through the dying wood of the trunk. Finally, as he emerged through the muddy roots, he hauled his weary form from the ground. Rising to his feet, the rain washed the mud from his naked flesh and as he stood before Athena, wet and glistening in the flashes of lightning, thunder rumbled across the sky.
Athena dropped to her knees and her gaze fell to his feet. ‘My Lord.’
Zute stepped forward, his naked skull glistening in the flickering lightning. ‘Rise, my queen,’ he said as he held out his hand for her to grasp. Athena looked up and a smile beamed across her face at the sight of him standing before her. She reached up to take his hand. As she rose, Zute pulled her forward and wrapped her within his arms, holding her in a firm embrace. The warmth of his skin and the sweet smell of his scent ignited the woman within Athena. Her skin tingled where their bodies connected through the sheer material of her gown and as his breath fell to gently caress her skin it caused a flare of heat to race to her loins. He reached down to tenderly touch his lips against hers, and finding a woman’s warmth within her kiss, he pressed his lips deeper against hers drawing in the sweet nectar she offered. As their lips parted he drew in her scent and closed his eyes for a moment. Releasing her, he took a step back. Athena signalled for Catrain to advance and bring the Lord’s cloak. The girl did as she was bid and dipped a curtsy before she handed Zute his robe. ‘My Lord,’ she said and then retreated to a safe distance. Zute cloaked himself in the soft warm material and then returned his gaze to Athena.
‘Where’s my axe?’
Chapter Thirty-seven
Foreman knew he should have left weeks ago, when Athena had first departed, but with each attempt his fear had held him back. Now as he sat and stared at his path of escape he again grew uneasy with the choice he had made. The warmth of the sun on his back gave him the courage he needed, and he gently urged his mount forward. With each step the mare took, Foreman Johns listened for movement. As he neared the path he heard nothing but the sounds of nature. There was no snapping of twigs or snarls from inside the dark, twisted walls and his mare warily entered the passage. Her ears flicked to and fro as she listened for danger. Every muscle in her body was alert, and Foreman felt her unease through his legs and squeezed her sides to keep her steadily moving forward. ‘Come, girl. We need to be on our way,’ he said as he patted the mare’s neck, hoping to ease her tension somewhat. ‘North is where we’ll find help.’
The mare squealed and skittered to the side, causing Foreman to nearly slide from his seat, but with one foot firmly wedged in the stirrup he hauled on the reins as he tried to control the mare’s flight. As he fought against her terror he heard the heavy thud of bodies crash through the undergrowth. Foreman held tight to the reins as the mare frantically tried to gain back her freedom, and digging his heels into her sides, he urged her towards their escape.
The vine wall loomed up at each side, threatening to trap them within its dense growth. While hidden inside its dark interior the beasts growled and yapped. Excited at the prospect of a meal, they ran along in the cool of the barrier and fuelled each other as they soaked in the fear of their prey. In their blood lust they snapped at each other, shrieking as they fought amongst themselves. Their need to rip at the terror-filled flesh and nourish their endless hunger drove them on.
Foreman steered his mare towards the exit and they galloped free from the walls of terror and on towards the city of Alden.
The miles flew by until, exhausted, Foreman slowed the mare allowing her to have her head. The sun was still rising in the clear morning sky and he knew they had plenty of time to reach safety and hide before the sun slid down past the horizon. As they entered the abandoned city the mare chomped at her bit, her breathing now steady after her perilous run.
Towards the far side of the town Foreman stopped at a small well. The dilapidated homes nearby, some with broken shingles, another where a door hung by a single hinge from the frame, spoke of the absence of life in this once prosperous place. Patches of silver thatch tufted the buildings where the roof structure had fallen over time, and a shattere
d pot, left where it had been dropped, gnawed at his heart as he remembered the stories of terror from the past.
This abandoned city had stood barren his whole life and nothing had changed since his last visit. Leaning over the side of the stone well he hoped the water was still sweet. Releasing the rope, he lowered the wooden bucket into the small stone chute until the tension on the rope eased. As the bucket sank into the water’s depths, the rope pulled taut and he began the task of hauling it up. Though the weather was at last warming, he still wore his gloves as he wound the handle to retrieve the bucket.
Foreman smiled when he heard the splash as the pail erupted from beneath the surface. He hauled the bucket up through the chute and when it swung over the top of the stone he reached forward and pulled it to safety, placing it on the edge of the well. Foreman sniffed the substance in the bucket. It held no offending odour, and removing his gloves, he cupped some of it in his hands so he could sample the liquid. Finding it sweet, he lowered the bucket of water for his mare. She sucked in the cool water to ease her thirst while he looked out across the land to where they were headed. Would he find them in time? He hoped so. His heart ached as he thought about Jezzel and his boys. Would his life have been different if he hadn’t been away? Would he be trapped as he was now? No. No longer trapped he was free. He just needed to make it back to Canistar and the Keep.
Foreman made his way along the deserted roads towards Winterness. He passed empty fields sprouting with new growth, but with no animals present to nip at the new shoots they spread at will. Onwards he travelled, the lack of activity obvious in every field.
As the sky bore veils in orange and pink, the sun began to make its descent and allow the moon to rise. The light dimmed and Foreman entered the quiet village of Winterness. The main thoroughfare was deserted. No lights were visible as he passed by the homes in the village and as he came to the outskirts ready to leave the place behind, a man’s voice called out to him from the inn.
‘You shouldn’t be out this late travelling the roads.’
Foreman pulled his mount to a halt and peered through the darkness towards the inn. A glimmer of light peeked through the crack of the open door. ‘I was going to stop but I thought the place to be deserted,’ he said.
‘No, not deserted. There are many left here, but well before the night draws in we stay inside.’ As Foreman stared towards the inn he could make out the shape of the man on the porch. ‘You must not be on the road after dark. It’s dangerous to be out. Do you need a bed for the night?’
‘I’m afraid I’ve no money.’ He’d taken only the horse, water skin and food when he’d left the Dome to head north.
‘In times such as these, no money is required. Life is more important than coin,’ the man said as he bounced down the steps to the road. ‘Come, we must hurry. Bring your horse around back to the barn,’ he said and strode off.
Foreman dismounted and followed with the mare. Opening the door to the barn, the man disappeared inside. Foreman waited in the darkness and then the spark from the tinder caught flame and the lantern the man held burst to life, casting the barns depths in its warm glow.
‘Bring her in,’ he said as he held open the door to a stall. Foreman led his mare into the pen. While he removed the saddle and bridle from his mount, the man from the inn brought in a bucket with oats for his horse. ‘This should fill her belly,’ he said as he placed it down. ‘I can’t guarantee she’ll be here in the morning, but at least she’ll not be hungry tonight. We best get inside. We’ve been out here too long.’
Foreman followed the welcoming stranger around to the front of the inn, up the steps and inside the building. As they entered the dimly lit establishment the man moved towards the hearth. Foreman noticed his own shadow flicker in the candle light as they made their way towards the small fire. It flickered merrily in the hearth but did little to warm the room. The man motioned him to take a seat close by its warmth.
‘So what urgent matter sees you travelling the roads by night?’ the inn keeper asked as he picked up a small log and carefully placed it onto the fire.
‘I’m heading north to Canistar,’ Foreman said, shifting in his seat. ‘Thank you for taking me in.’ He reached towards the inn keeper and held out his hand in greeting. ‘The name’s Foreman Johns.’
‘Ronlee. Ronlee Hargot,’ he said, taking Foreman’s hand in his own firm grip and welcoming the stranger into his home. ‘Have you eaten? Would you like a drink?’
‘I ate earlier but I wouldn’t mind something to quench my thirst,’ Foreman said.
‘I’ll duck into the kitchen and fetch you something to eat. There’s a bottle on the counter and some glasses on the shelf behind. Help yourself and pour one for me also. I won’t be long.’ Ronlee left Foreman to manage the drinks and returned not long after with some bread and cheese. Foreman placed the bottle and glasses on the table near the fire and poured them both some of the amber liquid.
‘So you plan to go north?’ Ronlee gestured to the food. ‘It’s not much but it will stop the hunger,’ he said as he sat down and picked up his glass.
‘I’ll leave tomorrow and travel as far as I can before nightfall.’
‘You’ll not make it to the coast before dark.’
‘I’m not headed to the coast, just north.’
‘Ya can’t. Those things will be waiting. They hide in the forest by day. Even if you skirt the forest there’s no guarantee you’ll make it past unnoticed.’ Ronlee stared into the fire. ‘I sent my son, Dalton, north barely two weeks ago and have had no word since he left. I sent him to get help.’ He waved towards the fare on the plate. ‘We’ll starve if no one comes soon.’
‘Don’t you have stores left over from winter? Surely they’ll see you through until help arrives.’
‘There’s no meat left. Those things took it all. We hadn’t salted enough to last us through the winter. Our herds had only just begun increasing in number and so we chose to keep the majority of them for the breeding season. About a month ago we noticed some of our animals missing, so we moved them closer to home to keep an eye on them. The attacks increased so we began locking them up at night. The village was running low on supplies and we needed to do a final cull or we’d starve before the spring harvest.
‘A while ago, when the snow was still firm, we butchered enough meat to see the village through until first picking. We chose only those animals we could afford to spare and after bleeding them and waiting for them to drain we prepared our barrels. With only a few men in the village having the knowledge of cutting it was a tedious process. The rest of us attended to salting the meat.
‘The light was beginning to fade, so we lit torches and continued to work. Then out of the dark they came. The smell of blood drew them in and they took most of the meat we’d cut during the day. We fought back as best we could but unarmed we were no match for them. A few of the locals were killed and these things flew off with their bodies too. Squabbling as they flapped above the roof tops, they ripped into one man, fighting as to who would be the victor. They shredded him, limb from limb, the pieces falling as their talons ripped through the flesh and still, they came back to scavenge the pieces.
‘They flew in and out and took what they wanted. There was nothing we could do. There were just too many of them. We hid inside and eventually when the food was gone they fled back into the night. The next day I sent my son north to bring help. He travelled east towards the coast. Our plan was to avoid the forest. It takes longer but I felt it would be a safer route. Now it’s been two weeks and still no word.’ Ronlee swilled down the rest of his drink and reached for the bottle.
Foreman shifted uncomfortably in his chair, holding onto the piece of bread, his appetite dwindling.
‘I’m sorry to laden you with my woes. You must have many of your own to undertake such a journey,’ he said, filling his glass and offering the bottle to Foreman.
‘No need to apologise, but time is of the essence. I’ll head through the f
orest and take my chances.’
Ronlee grunted. Staring into the dying flames, he drained his glass. ‘I can only offer you comfort by the fire tonight. The rest of the inn is full. Apparently there’s safety in numbers,’ he said and snorted. ‘But it helps them feel safe to be together, and that’s what matters for now.’ He rose from his chair and placed his glass on the table. ‘Good night, Foreman. Rest well and if your ears tempt you to leave the confines of the inn I would advise against it.’
‘Good night, Ronlee, and thank you.’
Chapter Thirty-eight
Foreman’s neck tingled as his hair stood on end. He stopped his mare from advancing and held the small lantern high enabling him to see past its glow into the depths of the forest. As he peered into the darkness he listened. His mare tensed her body and flicked her ears to and fro as she snorted her unease. Before Foreman could lower the lantern he was knocked from his mount and sailed to the pine needle floor. The lantern flew from his grasp to roll out of reach and cast eerie shadows among the tall pines of the Barroborough forest. The flame still danced upon the tallow and lit up the horror happening before his eyes.
Searing pain shot through his back. Winded, he lay there unable to draw breath. His mare screamed as she tried in vain to flee but with no luck of escape she flailed as more of the beasts piled on top of her and pinned her down. Their teeth sank into her terror-filled flesh and their talons tore at her hide. Foreman lay still, unable to draw breath let alone help the poor animal. In fear and shock he finally began to suck in breaths of air.