‘Please meet the seer Naksu. Naksu, this is Coronos,’ Triest’anth introduced them.
Both inclined their heads in greeting, the seer regarding Coronos in the same casual way that he regarded her. He couldn’t explain why, but he felt unsettled in the wise woman’s company, maybe it was because he was not used to female magic wielders, and she did little to ease it. Saying nothing she moved over to Asaph. He wondered if she had sensed Asaph was a Dragon Lord.
She closed her eyes and laid a smooth hand upon Asaph’s sweaty forehead. His writhing stilled at her touch and he murmured. She took her hand away and opened her eyes. For a moment they were vivid blue with insight before returning to pale pink. Her face was grim.
‘Even though his body fades, I can heal his wounds, but his mind I cannot. He lies somewhere between the Shadowlands and waking. His soul is too far gone for me to reach him. I fear he is already walking within Keteth’s realm, his spirit trapped in the White Beast’s lair. If he were not a Dragon Lord he would have died days ago.’
Coronos hung his head, not knowing what to do. He grasped her slender shoulders roughly. She winced.
‘What do you mean you cannot help him?’ he spoke harshly. ‘We have waited for days and for what? Nothing? You must help him, you are all we have.’
Triest’anth gently, but firmly, extracted Coronos’ hands from her shoulders. ‘Forgive my friend. This is his son, and it has been a very taxing few days.’
Naksu’s frown softened, but did not disappear. She smoothed her robes. ‘As I said, I can heal the wounds and clear the poison, that in itself is no easy feat. But only he can free his soul from Keteth’s clutches, no one else can do this for him. Just pray to your Feygriene that she is with him.’
Coronos’ spirit broke and his eyes misted over. ‘He is strong, yes, and one day he could become a mighty Dragon Lord. But he has had no training, no initiation. He has not mastered his power.’
‘Then you must pray and have hope, Draxian. Now leave me to do what I came to do,’ she said in finality. Naksu busied herself at Asaph’s side, pulling out small colourful vials and a candle from the pouches on her belt. She absorbed herself in her work, clearly forgetting they were there.
‘Seer Naksu, please use anything you need in my house, and do not hesitate to ask for anything I don’t have,’ Triest’anth offered. She nodded absently, lighting the candle with a flick of her finger. Triest’anth took Coronos’ arm, and gently led him outside.
They waited in Cusap’anth’s house. His wife Op’ynth was a handsome, quiet woman, and an excellent cook. She willingly served them food and spiced wine, but Coronos could eat little of the meal for his stomach was twisted in worry.
‘The owl returned last night,’ Cusap’anth said after they had eaten. He fidgeted as if he was uncomfortable describing what the owl had shown him. ‘The girl is well. It turns out she is Daluni and was easy for the owl to find. She is well looked after by others.’
Coronos nodded and smiled weakly. It was one less burden on his heart. He sipped his wine in silence and watched the day turn to night, but still there came no word. He fidgeted and constantly looked at the door, half-expecting it to open at any moment. Cusap’anth and Op’ynth said their goodnights, and went to bed, leaving Coronos and Triest’anth sat by the hearth.
Coronos whispered so as not to wake them. ‘I owe you a great debt for housing and feeding us these past few days. I apologise for my manner at times, it’s not been easy.’
‘Let’s hope your son recovers,’ Triest’anth said. ‘I think there is more to you than we, or even you, know. I think our paths are entwined somehow, and our survival is very much linked to that Dragon Lord. Don’t ask me why, I just feel it.’
Coronos thought upon his words. ‘Perhaps. Even so, we are indebted to your kindness, friend,’ he meant it sincerely. Despite everything, he felt he had found someone to trust in these dangerous times. It was just past midnight when Naksu silently entered the house, startling even Triest’anth despite his excellent hearing.
‘I’ve done what I can, please, follow me,’ her face was drawn, exhaustion etched in her eyes.
Asaph was sleeping soundly, thick bandages bound his wounds.
‘I will change his bandages in the morning. If his wounds are doing well, I will leave you the third change of bandages, after which the wounds must be aired,’ Naksu said as she washed her hands in a bowl of steaming water.
‘Please, take my bed for I will sit by his side tonight,’ Coronos said. ‘I apologise for my behaviour earlier, I was beset with worry.’
She smiled back at him with genuine warmth but said nothing.
Coronos awoke beside a cold hearth not long after dawn and was surprised to find the others already up. He quickly washed his face in a bowl of water and longed for a hot bath so he could wash properly. If only there was a hot spring like the one the Kuapoh bathed in. Well, a cold one would do since it was summer. He resolved himself to finding a bathing pool in the river later.
Asaph was no longer covered in sweat and his fever burned lower, but he was still deathly pale as if all the blood had been drained from him. His eyes no longer rolled beneath closed lids and at last his breath was slow and rhythmic.
‘Fight a while longer, my son,’ Coronos whispered softly to him. ‘I give to you all of my strength.’
Naksu came over to unwrap Asaph’s bandages. They were already soaked through with bloody puss, but Coronos looked on amazed for the wounds no longer oozed and were finally closing.
‘It has worked better than I’d hoped,’ Naksu said as she gently cleansed and redressed his wounds.
‘You have my heartfelt thanks, Naksu. Is there anything I can do in return?’ Coronos asked, bowing deeply.
‘A little lintel weed would go down a treat in my pipe,’ she replied, grinning in a way that made her look like a child. Coronos smiled and willingly gave her a whole bag.
‘But purple is the most expensive of the smokeable lintels,’ she said, wide-eyed.
‘It really is the least I can do,’ he said humbly. She thanked him and squeezed his arm.
Naksu did not stay, and before long she was leading her mule back out into the forest. She waved once and smiled before disappearing into the trees.
As soon as she had gone, Coronos was back at Asaph’s side, worry creasing his forehead once more. He decided he needed to be alone to think, or not. Just to be still for a moment and away from everything. He turned to Triest’anth, who was busy tidying away his pots.
‘Friend, please watch over my son. I need some time alone, to think or not, I don’t know.’
Triest’anth nodded, understanding his need for solace. ‘Here, take some food with you,’ Triest’anth said, passing him some herb bread and dried fruit, ‘you will no doubt get hungry.’
‘I shall also wash thoroughly,’ Coronos said as he left, and Triest’anth nodded his head vigorously.
Once outside he tentatively sniffed his sleeve. ‘Hmm, not too bad, not really,’ he muttered to himself, and headed off through the village towards the river.
Karalanth children giggled at him as he passed. They no longer pointed at “two-foot” and ran away screaming. They loved the magic tricks he performed for them, though most did not use real magic and were only illusions. His arts were simple tricks, but both he and the children were happy with that. He smiled at them and carried on.
When he reached the river he followed it upstream. It was still early morning, but the sun was already hot, and its light dappled down through the rich green canopy. Coronos walked with thoughts of Asaph churning through his mind. He was terribly afraid for him, afraid of losing him. Baelthrom would soon know another Dragon Lord walked Maioria, if he didn’t already. They would hunt him down, infect him with Sirin Derenax, and turn him into Dromoorai. He could not let that happen.
He came to a sunlit clearing where a waterfall cascaded into a deep pool. A fox darted away as he approached, his red coat gleaming in the sun.
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‘Perfect,’ Coronos said, setting his staff and cloak down at the water’s edge, and taking in the serene surroundings. From a pouch, he took out a lump of stone soap and a sharp knife, set them on a rock, and took off his clothes.
Taking a deep breath he plunged into the pool and shrieked when the cold water hit. He spluttered to the surface for air, and let the cool water wash away the grime, weariness and worry. He held his breath and ducked down, hoping to cleanse his mind with the water. After swimming to warm up, he floated on the surface with the warm sun on his face and let his fears dissipate, if only for a little while.
Eventually, he grabbed the soap and washed and scrubbed himself thoroughly. Next, he set about washing and scrubbing his clothes before laying them out on a warm sunlit rock to dry. Picking up the knife and comb he stared at his reflection and trimmed his beard. He looked positively old, there were lines in his face that had not been there a month ago. His hair was now all white, and there were heavy bags under his eyes. He was still upright and his shoulders were broad, though now more slender and less muscular.
The journey to the Shadowlands had not been without a price, he mused, he had lost years and Asaph may lose his life. He felt old in his heart, old in his mind. His life had been long and full, and now he was in his sunset years. He had never thought he would feel ready to die, not in all his long years, but these past few weeks he did.
The Night Goddess was waiting for him and the light of Feygriene was growing dim around him. He admitted he was ready to return to the Source of All, but there was one more thing left for him to do, and so he could not leave, not yet. He had to make Asaph strong, strong enough to face the Maphraxies, and even to withstand Baelthrom. Only then would it be time to return to the Fire in the Sky.
He pulled himself onto the rock beside his clothes and lay there sunbathing naked. With a quiet mind, he felt for the Flow. It calmed him, connected him, and in its gentle flow he drifted in a half sleep.
He awoke with a start to the sound of a woman’s voice, but when he looked around, there was no one there, save for the birds in the trees. He pulled on his now-dry clothes and set about collecting a small pile of twigs from the riverbank. He was not one for the rituals the clergy had taught him back home on Drax, he did not need rituals to be close to the divine, but some of their teachings held wisdom for him and helped still his mind. From a larger pouch, he took flint, tinder and kindling and began sparking a fire. He blew on the sparks until a flame appeared.
Gazing at the fire he let all thoughts drift from his mind as he sought the Fire Sight - the simple Draxian meditative exercise often used when one was lost or unsure of the future. His mind still, he spoke the recital thrice over.
Fire is the sun, the light, the life-giver;
Fire is the dragon, the passion, the flame within my heart;
Fire fills my soul, fire stirs my spirit, fire lights my way;
When the darkness comes and all seems lost,
Feygriene lead me home to the One Flame.
The flame that burns with truth,
The flame that burns with love,
The flame that burns eternal, the light that never dies.
With each recital Coronos’ trance deepened The dancing flame filled his mind, drawing him further into it than he had ever been and still he went deeper until he was surrounded by fire, giant licks of vivid orange and yellow flames swirled around him. The roaring sound of flames filled his head, and he became the fire and danced with it. A face formed before him, blue flames that were eyes watched him, dark red flame lips smiled upon him. The face was awesome, and he bowed his head in reverence to the Sun Goddess.
‘Feygriene, I am lost, I know not the way. Zanufey draws near, and yet I fear for my son, the last of the Dragon Lords.’
For a while, there was only the sound of the roaring flames as the beautiful face looked at him. He hung his head in sorrow.
‘Divine Mother, the way is dark, we cannot see. I fear the end is near for all. Please light our way.’
‘The time of light has passed, my son, now must come the cleansing dark,’ a calm voice echoed. ‘There is one who can help lead you through the darkness. Hope and faith are unnecessary. Know only this, trust only this: choose love and then choose freedom. Fear not for the Dawn Bringer, all is as it must be.’
‘It’s not long now is it, Divine Mother?’ Coronos looked up in devotion.
The face smiled and faded leaving him alone, empty and incomplete. He closed his eyes and felt a gentle caress on his cheek. He opened them again, but nothing was there. Instead of burning yellow and orange, the small fire was blue, indigo blue like the colour of the dark moon. The forest surrounded him once more and he was startled to see the orange rays of the setting sun as if confirming the time of light was over.
‘How long have I been here?’ he breathed.
He buried the smouldering twigs in earth as the light faded. He glanced up at the sky, the trees hid the setting sun. The dark moon was out there somewhere, a dark field of magic, pure untapped energy. Its cycle was measured in eons and written in books long lost to the world. The dark moon filled him with foreboding, but there was also promise, the promise of change.
He lingered no longer and set off at a pace back to the village.
Chapter 36
A Dragon In Chains
THOUGH Asaph’s body was stricken, his mind and soul were trapped in a nightmare he could not awaken from. He fled from a horror whispering all manner of ways in which he would die, down corridors of a huge palace he did not recognise. He could never see the thing that chased him, could only hear the crashing noise getting ever closer, and feel the terror of his own imminent death.
The pounding of his feet echoed off the walls, his breath rasped in his throat. Between closed doors led endless queues of stairwells; some led straight up, some were winding, others descended down into darkness.
A howl came from close behind, not a human noise or even animal. It sounded unearthly, the scream of a wraith or some other thing long dead. He stopped at a door, swung it open, and ran down a hallway that looked just like the first. Every corner he turned and every door he ran through was identical in this maze of a place.
The hallways lurched sickeningly, and the floor rose and fell as if a huge beast moved under the ground, sensing and stalking its prey. The world shuddered and changed.
Gone were the hallways and stairwells, he now ran in a forest of twisted trees with shrivelled and blotched leaves. He did not stop to look around but staggered on. The rumbling behind was getting closer. Moans of pain came from the trees, and he covered his ears as he ran.
Again the world lurched. He fled over a wide plain of brittle grey grass that stretched on for miles and miles, and he knew not to stop. Again the world changed, and again.
He stumbled through freezing blizzards and howling wind, lashing rain and burning hot desert sands. Always there was something wrong and unnatural about the world; the wind smelt of decay, the rain was oily, and the sand was dirty and stained.
Sweat poured down his brow and naked torso, his legs burned with fatigue yet he could not falter. He staggered and almost fell, he could run no longer, but there came a deafening crashing sound behind that shook the ground and filled him with terror. He forced himself forwards, stumbling again and again on weary feet.
Many times he reached for the dragon within, but it did not come. He could not feel its existence anymore and found only emptiness where once it had been. He was lost and defenceless. What chased him and why? He knew the answer was there if he could just stop and think, but there was no time and he knew only to run.
He ran over a rocky barren place. The sound of crashing rocks and earth being torn asunder scoured his ears, but he dared not turn to look. In that thundering noise came the rumble of mocking laughter.
‘Run little rabbit,’ the voice breathed around him. ‘The dogs are coming.’
His head pounded and his throat was as parched
as a desert. The sun was beginning to set, but it was a strange fake sun. It shone a weak and sickly yellow light that gave no heat and was almost indistinguishable from the grey sky it clung to. It was as if someone had tried to create an imitation of life and the world, but failed abysmally.
This place was his prison, and the only way he could fight the terror that hunted him, and the hopelessness growing inside, was by running. He staggered over a rocky ridge and stumbled onto the banks of a lake. The lake had no ripples and was a sheen of dark glass that did not mirror his reflection. He ran along the water’s edge. The laughter turned into a terrible wailing, growing louder and louder until it was the sound of a hundred voices screaming in pain.
A shrivelled hand burst up from the sand in front of him, its fingers grey and stricken in rigor mortis. He swerved away from it only to stumble over another clawed hand, then another. He walked upon a mass grave, but the dead were still alive and trying to claw to the surface. The withered hands grasped his legs, and bloody rotting fingers dug into his flesh, pulling him down. He screamed and fell. They grabbed his hair and limbs. His nostrils filled with the stench of decay.
Under his struggles, the sand began to trickle away through gaps to reveal iron bars atop which he lay. The sand kept falling all around him and beyond, revealing a massive cage under the ground so vast he could not see where it ended.
He looked down and retched. Below him were scores of dead beings that still moved as if alive. Their skin was ashen, torn rags covered emaciated bodies, sunken eyes set in rotting faces stared longingly up at him.
Elves, humans, karalanths, Ancients - all the races of the dead of Maioria were imprisoned there. Their faces were twisted in pain and hopelessness. They clambered towards him, hands grasping and wanting to touch him, for he was the life that they had lost. He caught the sunken eyes of a man, and the despair within them began to drain his soul.
Night Goddess (The Goddess Prophecies Book 1) Page 36