The Ravenous Siege (Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 2)
Page 32
"That is a mystery indeed, my friend," Deryn answered him.
"What does it mean?" Cal asked. "And why would someone spend so much time tracing its ancient letters upon this old cave?" Cal stopped short, for something had interrupted his thoughts. "What is this?" he asked. "Is the cave leaking?" The groomsman touched his thumb and his forefinger together. Whatever the wet substance was, it was tacky, sticky between his fingers.
"Meus is Terrian for mine," the Sprite answered him. "Though the connotation to its meaning is very possessive, insatiably greedy."
Cal looked at his fingers and then again to the cave wall, and as he put together the reality of the circumstance, his blood ran cold. There on the rock, where he was just moments before tracing his fingers upon the hastily scrawled words, he now saw nothing more than a white, smeared mess.
"What in the damnable dark?" Cal said aloud as his eyes went back and forth from his fingers to the wall and back again. "Deryn," he said nervously. "Deryn, the ink is smearing. Whoever wrote these words wrote them recently."
"What?" Deryn said, completely befuddled.
"Look at my hands!" Cal said with a terrified shudder as he held up his white fingers for the Sprite to behold.
"Help!" came a muffled call from somewhere deep in the cave.
"Did you hear that?" Cal asked his friend.
"Yes, I did. Come!" Deryn called as he shot past Cal in a whir of blue magic.
"What is it? What do you see?" Cal asked as he rushed into the suffocating darkness with a blazing torch in hand.
"It's further in!" Deryn shouted. "They must be further in!"
Cal and Deryn made their way as quickly as they could and with what little light they held; whether by hope, magic, or the crude torch, they saw just enough to continue through the winding caverns ahead of them. Deeper and deeper they proceeded into the eerie cave, each step illuminating the walls enough that they could make out the ancient word that was obsessively and rather frighteningly scrawled upon them.
"Help!" Somewhere, much closer now, a desperate voice called to them again.
"Over there!" Deryn shouted over his shoulder as he flew onward. "The cry is coming from over there!" The walls around him caught and reflected the amber glow of Cal's torch, and it mingled with the azure hue of the Sprite's illumination. Cal had a fleeting thought that the light was rather beautiful, and that if the circumstances were less perilous, he might have taken a moment to appreciate the mingling light.
Deryn led the way, searching the cavern for sign of danger or distress. Without warning, the rocky floor beneath him disappeared, swallowed up into a pit of utter darkness. By the time the Sprite realized what was beneath him, it was all he could do to turn and shout back in time to save his charge from plummeting to whatever depths lay hidden beneath him. "Stop, Cal! Stop!"
Cal saw his tiny, winged guardian, who was not more than a dozen or so paces ahead of him, turn and shout. He saw Deryn hold up his tiny hands, begging him to halt, but before his feet could register what his eyes had seen, Cal had slipped and fallen. His body slid recklessly towards the black opening before him, his momentum threatening to carry him to whatever danger waited at the bottom of this unknown pit. He reached and clawed for purchase upon the dusty floor as his legs slipped over the edge of the cavern, desperately willing his fingers to grip something, anything, while there was still something left to reach for. He let go of his torch to free his other hand before he plunged to the darkened recesses of this godforsaken place, and as he did his fingers caught the jagged edge of the mouth of the pit. He grasped the rock with both hands, forcing himself to hold fast while his legs dangled in the air and sought out a foothold.
"Help us! Help us, please!" came the familiar, silken voice of the violet-eyed woman.
"Astyræ?!" Cal shouted as his feet scraped a rough bit of the cave wall. "Astyræ, is that you?"
"Cal?" she shouted back up towards him with a relieved tremor in her voice.
"Yes! I'm here!" he managed between deep, heaving breaths. "Are you alright?"
"Aye, lad!" came the deep voice of a tired northman. "We are alright ... for the moment."
"Goran!" Cal shouted in excitement at the voice of his friend. "Why in the damnable dark are you two down there, brother?" The groomsman breathed a sigh of relief when his foot finally found a solid ledge to rest on.
The large, bearded woodcutter picked up the still burning torch that had fallen to his tired and weary feet, and held it up over his head to behold his surroundings for the first time.
"My lady? Goran?" Cal shouted back down to them, but neither the large man nor the violet-eyed woman answered, for they were both caught in amazement, staring wild-eyed at what had been illuminated at the dropping of the torch.
"What in the name of the THREE who is SEVEN is this place?" the woodcutter said in an awe-struck voice.
"Goran!" Cal shouted again. "Lady Astyræ, what is it? What have you found?"
"You wouldn't believe me if it told you, brother!" the large woodcutter shouted back.
"Do you see a way out?" Cal asked him.
"No…" Goran answered absentmindedly, still clearly distracted with whatever it was he could now see at the bottom of the pit.
"We have to find a way to get them out of there," Cal said to his Sprite friend. He heaved his body up and over the rough edge of the gaping pit. The metal of his armored chest piece groaned as his midsection rested upon the safe, albeit rocky ground. He quickly spun around, chest still to the cave floor, and peered out over the edge, scouring the walls about him in search of something, anything that he could use to rescue his friends.
"Are you in danger?" Cal shouted back down into the torch-lit chamber, but as he examined the pit from his perch on the ledge, he noticed something odd about the way the fire reflected off the stone walls. "What ... what is that place down there?"
"Cal, over here!" Deryn said excitedly. "I think I found a way!"
Cal tore his curious gaze away from the oddly reflective base of the dark cavern, watching as his winged companion flew in a hurry towards the wall of the passageway that they had just passed through. "What is it, Deryn? What have you found?"
But the Sprite did not speak a single word. Instead, he landed softly and stood triumphantly atop a crudely lashed, birch ladder.
"Well done, my friend! Well done indeed!" He stood and brushed the dirt off his cloak, rushing quickly to the providentially placed ladder and grabbing it eagerly. But Cal's joy was short-lived, for as his hands grasped the smooth, birch rungs of the ladder, his ears heard a soul-chilling voice from the entrance of the cave.
Cal stopped in his tracks; he held his breath as he strained to hear whatever or whoever it was that was in the cave with them. "Did you hear that?" he whispered nervously. "Is it Pyrrhus? Did he find us?"
"I don't ..." Deryn said, still straining to hear. "I don't think that is the fire knight."
"Meeeeeuuuuuussssss," came a long, exaggerated call. The spoken tone of the ancient word sounded almost like a rusted, iron gate, and it sent chills all the way to the fingertips of the groomsman who stood there, listening in the darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Five
"WHAT IS HAPPENING OUT THERE, Engelmann?" Michael whispered in frustration. "Is he giving up the city? Why would he surrender without a fight?"
The chamber at the entrance to the Menashe stood right at the outer edge of the courtyard. It was there that the escaped prisoners could hear the words of the Priest King and could feel the tension of all that was happening on the other side of the door that momentarily separated them from the madness.
"Power is a strange and intoxicating poison, my son," Engelmann said. "And I presume that Jhames would rather be a prince of darkness than an illuminated corpse."
"What does that mean?" Celrod asked the Arborist, but when he made eye-contact with his new friend, the blue flames that consumed his gaze gave Celrod a true and unexpected fright. "Arborist? Arborist, are you alright?"
"Go? Go where!" Timorets puzzled. "The whole damned Raven Army waits just on the other side of the Kings' Bridge!"
"To the sacred mount," Engelmann interrupted. "It is there that you will find your deliverance."
"But what about the guardsmen? The Priest King and the Chancellor?" Fryon said, just before the sound of the clanking iron of the massive portcullis being raised could interrupt his protest.
"Jhames is determined to parley with the Raven Army, and that notion might very well prove advantageous for us," Michael reasoned.
"Yes, my boy!" Engelmann encouraged. "While both the armies of Haven and the invaders are focused upon the parley, we must be swift and deliberate to make our way to the mother willow, and descend into the hall of my brothers."
The bright brass of the guardsmen cut through the dark tension as they announced their intentions to the invading host.
"Come on, now," Michael said. "Grab your blades, and let's make our way to the iron willow while we still can."
Fryon nodded, and with sword in hand he slowly opened the door of the keep, watching as the torch-lit courtyard teemed with frightened men who were steeling themselves for a dance with utter evil.
"Which way, Arborist?" Fryon whispered. "I've never been on this side of those mighty walls. Well, for that matter, I have never been this side of the Kings' Bridge itself, and we will need a guide if we hope to make it to your hall in the midst of this dark night."
"Follow Michael – he knows the way. Be quick, and be quiet; no matter what you see, remember that your deliverance comes from one place and one place alone. Do not give into distraction, no matter how noble it may seem." Engelmann cautioned them cryptically before he opened the door wide before them and walked into the cobblestoned courtyard of the Capital.
"Quickly now!" Engelmann whispered, gesturing to the waiting few behind him. One at a time, the five of them darted out from the door towards the massive bowl-like fountain in the middle of the square. The small band of brothers crouched low, concealing their presence behind the massive water piece. The blaring of the Citadel's trumpets startled them, and they could not help but peer out over the white stone lip of the bowl to observe the unfolding conference upon the water.
"All hail Jhames, Priest King of the city of Haven, and the Lord of the first colony, Proclaimer of the flint and seeker of the light! Kneel, all who enter into his presence, for you shall either receive his favor or suffer his wrath!" The voice of the royal herald rang out in practiced proclamation.
Michael looked on as none, not one, of the invading army knelt in homage before the Priest King.
The world went silent there upon the massive bridge, save for the sound of the pounding wings and the flapping standards caught in the cold, north wind. The brave albeit frightened guardsmen stood their ground, holding their gaze on the green-eyed faces of their invaders. Finally it was Chaiphus that broke the tense silence of the moment with an arrogant reply.
"Homage is demanded! It matters little who you are or what devils you command; all must kneel in the presence of the Priest King!"
"Neither I, nor any blade that I command, will kneel before any other than the sorceress herself," the Raven General said with a haughty tone of unimpressed detachment. "Homage is refused. I will not pay homage to the unenlightened, nor will I heed the arrogant words of dead men."
"Who are you, and what do you want?" Jhames spoke before Chaiphus could launch another verbal offense.
"I am Aius, General and commander of her nocturnal army," the massive man announced as his one green eye glowed with a frightening sheen. "I come offering terms that would save your city, lest I raze it to the ground."
"And just what are these terms?" Jhames asked nervously.
"That you forgo fire, timber, torch and flame, and that you relinquish your slavery to its fickle illumination. You will give yourselves wholly over to the power of the sorceress," Aius decreed confidently.
Jhames and Chaiphus looked at each other oddly, for these were not the demands that they had expected of an invading army. "I do not understand," Jhames replied slowly.
The Raven General narrowed his dual-colored eyes at the King's guard and their protected leaders. "Long has your world been dependent on the flames of His dying affection. Long have your kind lived hand to mouth, reliant upon His singular fire. And where has that gotten you, oh bright Priest King? Has your dedication and flintish piety managed to save the city you swore to serve?" Aius scoffed at the men as he spoke, and in his voice there was an unsettling mixture of both hatred and pity. "His great tree has failed, and your God has abandoned you to an existence of poverty at the hands of the axe and the tree."
"You are wrong, General. We have been given a spirit and a resolve to make our own light! We but have to strike the dark, and light will burst forth!" Chaiphus retorted brashly, but Jhames quickly and sternly put a steadying hand on his arm, signaling him to be silent.
"But why, men of Haven?" the Raven General asked. "Why would you waste your life upon such an archaic way of living, slaves to timber and flame, when what she offers is a whole new way to see this darkened world?"
Almost as if to punctuate his words in the most terrifying of ways, the sound of beating wings circled closer and closer, like vultures awaiting the imminent death of their wounded prey.
"Be done with it already," Jhames demanded, the color of life drained from his thin, drawn face. "Our bows are trained and our walls are strong, but you and I both know that our defenses are no match for dragons."
"Your Brightness!" Chaiphus blurted out.
Jhames held high his three fingers, his gaze devoid of patience. "Do not prolong this charade any longer, my old friend," he said as he stared wildly into the eyes of his most trusted advisor. "I have seen it. I have seen the razing of our Citadel and the rape of our people. I have seen the corded timber of our determination stolen away from us, carried mockingly on the wind of a cloud of ravens."
Aius stared without malice, his green eye glowing brighter and brighter as the circling dragons came closer and closer to the doomed conference there upon the water.
"Failure, Chancellor," Jhames continued. "We have failed to please the will of the THREE who is SEVEN." Tears streamed in small traces of madness down his bony cheeks. "And it is HE that has abandoned us, choosing to banish us into the blackness, a fitting retribution for our failure. Well, I tried, my friend. We tried to right this world, one small, stupid mind at a time ... but I will not die for a failure that was not wholly our doing! I will not-"
"Have you lost your mind?" Chaiphus interrupted.
Perhaps … or perhaps he has finally found it.
The voices of the dragons cut through the chatter upon the Kings' Bridge, for they were near, and louder than ever before. They punctuated their sinister words with the resounding boom of their massive bodies landing upon the bridge. The King's guard, who had thus far held to the pride of their rank and the duty of their sworn service, cowered in fear as the twin dragons collided with the floor of the mighty bridge. It was Chaiphus and the Priest King alone who remained standing in the presence of such monsters.
"The sorceress offers the gift of sight to all who would receive it," the general offered, seeming almost amused at their terror. "Have you not been listening? The light is not gone after all, for there is a new light that has arisen from deep within the bowels of Aiénor. It is a light reserved for the darkness alone, a nocturnal fire by which all who receive it shall see the world through her eyes."
Jhames and Chaiphus looked around at the sea of glowing, green-eyed Nocturnals whose blackened blades caught and reflected the watch fires of the massive braziers flanking the Kings' Bridge. Time seemed to slow as they gazed at the muted glow, weighing the finality of the decision that they knew they had to make.
"Chancell
or Chaiphus," the Raven General spoke again, breaking the long, silent moment with a voice not much louder than a whisper. "One will not have to fear the darkness when one has become a citizen of night."
The last remaining army of Haven watched in fearful curiosity, blades drawn and bows at the ready. They waited, quietly breathless, as they witnessed their mighty Priest King and his pious, unyielding Chancellor kneel before the enormous, inky-black serpents. Then, they watched in horror as the snarled lips of the massive dragons kissed the foreheads of the once mighty leaders of Haven. As scales met flesh, the twin beasts blew an unholy cloud of green fire upon the two kneeling men.
Chapter Thirty-Six
"MEUS, MEUS, MEUS, MEUS, MEUS, Meus!" The eerie voice chanted the singular word in a tired, creaking crescendo.
"Hurry," Deryn whispered. "I fear we will find no hospitality from whoever speaks that word."
"Agreed!" Cal whispered his reply as he slowly and carefully lifted the lightweight, birch ladder up and over his head.
"Meus, Meus!" The old voice continued to repeat the solitary word in a haunting cadence, and as Cal listened, he began to make out the sound of footsteps. They punctuated the chanting with a menacing rhythm, sliding along in eerie echoes upon the dusty cave floor.
"Goran! Astyræ!" Cal whispered as loud as he could while lowering the birch ladder into the torch-lit abyss. "I am coming to get you!"
Cal tested the strength of the ladder's first rung with the full weight of his body. He found it to be true enough, so he lowered himself down into the chamber that held his two friends captive. He descended quickly, and before he knew it he was nearly twenty rungs deep into the basement of this cavern before his boots finally reached the subfloor. "Hurry now, someone is coming," he managed to say before the very sight of what lay before him robbed his words of their sense of urgency.
"Have you ever in all your life seen such a place as this?" Goran managed to say while his gaze was still fixated upon the walls of this space.