Mankind.
A war on the Erthe.
Raine waited. Night came, the army disappeared to the eastern horizon. She kept waiting, until the following morning. The sky was overcast, the sun did not reach into the barrow, all was quiet, even birds spurned this place. She felt dead, maybe she was… but she was beyond caring.
The words came back to her, a haunting echo.
Snap out of it! You are so close, you cannot afford to falter. The Twist is within reach, find the keystone, your hand will unlock the dream, the dream will take you to the song and the song will unlock the Twist. It will embrace your body and soul, making you the vessel of destruction, to kill for the Mother, to kill for the Erthe. Wake up and fight, do not retreat, do not die!
So here she was.
She knew what she had to do, she had to enter the barrow and find the Twist. She almost laughed but groaned instead. She stood stiffly and staggered towards the barrow’s entrance. She expected to see more warriors emerge but she encountered no one. She reached the doorway and placed her hand on its cold stone, she felt nothing. The place was empty, the dead had left.
It was too late, she should have been there before they had a chance to escape. Now she was less than useless, the enemy had flown. Still, something niggled, something remained unanswered, the words of her inner voice resonated. She entered the barrow, its darkness erased her form, it felt like an ally, smothering her feelings, her heart. She closed her eyes and walked down the passage, feeling the way with hands and feet. She breathed the damp air into her lungs.
She had gone sixty paces, eyes closed, the floor was descending. Her hands came to a wall, it was incomplete. She tried to make sense of it and knelt feeling the floor, there was an opening, waist high. She would have to find a way, she did not hesitate, she lay down and crawled into the space. She kept going, forwards and down. The tunnel narrowed, after twenty feet she could crawl no more only wriggle. She would see it through; it felt as if she was crawling into her own tomb.
Finally, she could move no further, she was trapped in the stony passage, her breathing weak. So this was it, she would die, in the dark, in the hill of the dead, a fitting end. She could not wait to be with Ash and Marianne, and her love, Severin, on the otherside. It would be a joyous reunion, perhaps her inner voice would stop tormenting her now, she had tried, she had given it her best.
Then she felt a faint breeze on her cheek, like a breath. She froze and waited, it was there, a draft. She tilted her head sensing a space above. She moved her right hand managing to bring it to her face. There would be no going back, she was committed, the tunnel was too tight, too unforgiving.
She lifted her arm and felt the space, she squeezed herself into it. She explored with her fingers and pulled herself into a crouch. Her heart pounded, the space extended upwards, she found she could stand. A drop of moisture fell on her face and she cried out in fright.
Panic gripped her, here she was in the barrow’s dark heart, in the hill of death.
What was she doing?
What was she thinking?
She screamed, the sound strange, it bounced off damp stone drilling back into her skull. Her breath came in gulps. She lay in a womb of death, she felt the generations pressing in around her, smothering her. They were reaching for her, bony hands pointing, accusing, she was too late. The shade army was gone.
Raine’s mind fractured.
She could take no more.
Madness descended, reason abandoned her, she saw with a new clarity; the clarity of insanity. She saw the answer, her new state of mind revealed the way. She stood in the dark, searching for the breeze, its whisper just beyond her reach. She found its touch and began climbing the rocks, feeling with her hands. She pressed her cheek against damp stone, foot and hand holds appearing as she ascended.
The breeze strengthened, she came to a ledge and with a desperate effort she pulled herself up and lay panting on the stone floor. Her head was spinning from the exertion and she closed her eyes. After some minutes she blinked and saw a glimmer of daylight. Her eyes adjusted, she looked round, and saw she was in a large chamber. Dark shapes lay on the periphery of the room, a large mound dominated its centre, lit partially by daylight filtering down from above.
Raine rose and went towards the nearest shape. It was a sarcophagus, crude lines carved on its surface. She ran her fingers along it and shivered, she was in the hidden heart of Si an Bhru, at its secret. Her eyes were drawn to the large mound at the centre of the chamber. A king or a priest’s resting place? She knew she was meant to be here, it was falling into place, she was not too late.
Her madness gave her courage, she approached the mound and found a massive ornate sarcophagus. She looked at the images hewn into its cover stone and side panels. Here was a person of importance, a man or woman of wealth and power. This was important. She knelt and examined the groove running round the cover stone. There were indentations where levers had been placed to lift the cover stone. She did not need to lift the lid to gain access, she only needed to move it slightly.
Raine looked round the chamber and found what she was looking for. One of the smaller sarcophagi had collapsed, a great sword lay within it. She took the weapon, it gleamed dully in the light from above. It was still strong and true, a master had crafted the blade. She placed it into one of the grooves under the great sarcophagus’s cover stone, pushing it as far as it would go. At least a foot passed under the lid. Carefully she pressed down on the pommel. Nothing happened, the blade grated against the stone of the sarcophagus but the lid did not budge.
She released the pommel and stared at the sarcophagus, an idea struck her. She climbed onto the lid and stood there. Concentrating, she placed her feet on the blade, balancing. She shimmied along until she stood on the pommel itself, bending her knees with arms outstretched. With a flourish she jumped up using the sword as a springboard. She rose at least three feet then fell, both feet hitting the pommel. She heard a grating sound and tumbled to the floor, the sword clattered to the ground narrowly missing her.
The chamber suddenly grew cold, her breath misted the air.
With her forehead pressed to the floor she checked for injuries, finding none she rose and looked behind. The lid had moved. She went over to the sarcophagus, a gap had opened at one end. She could not see what lay inside but told herself it was long dead. She reached in but could not touch the bottom.
She looked at the gap, she could squeeze through, it would be tight but she was sure she could fit. Her madness once again lent her courage and without thinking she clambered onto the lid and lowered herself into the sarcophagus. Her feet stood on something hard and brittle, she heard a crunch and cursed, it was not good to break the bones of the dead.
Raine dropped down into the sarcophagus, she crouched, her hands held out, she felt nothing but dead air. She went on all fours, a musty smell pervaded the space, the air thick with dust, her mouth felt dry as if full of ash. Her hands searched as she crawled along the bottom. She felt bones and parchment, there was no blade; a priest then, not a warrior.
Scratching.
Raine froze, her breathing laboured. It was impossible, there should be no living thing in this dead space. She had imagined it… it was the madness, her inner self playing tricks. There was nothing to find, she’d been tricked, her journey and Jax’s life had been for nothing. There was no Twist, no great weapon to defeat the shade army brought into the world by Ashtoreth and her sister.
She stopped searching, she wanted to lie down and die. She sat on her heels and felt her face, her skin was wet, she was crying. She’d had enough, she stretched back among the bones and ash, her throat burning, her eyes smarting, she closed them. She felt strange, as if in a dream.
She felt taken.
Scratching at her feet.
She did not move, she was beyond caring. A skittering close to her head, something touching her ear, her neck. She kept still, she was locked away in that place deep inside where she was fr
ee. She was dimly aware of needle like pricks spreading up her spine. She knew something was happening, something dark.
Magic.
Suddenly, her arms and legs were held, she could not move, she did not want to move. The pain in her spine became worse, she felt needles digging into her flesh and bone, the skittering reached a frenzy. A creeping feeling in her ears, pain exploded in her head. Finally, something hard and bony wriggled from her chest onto her face, it stopped, then she felt needles in her eyes, the thing crawled into her mouth.
Lancinating pain, followed by white heat and unconsciousness. Raine’s body jerked violently, the bones in her neck and spine cracked. Dim green light flickered on the chamber’s walls.
Outside a bird screeched forlornly.
Chapter 18
Fragments
“What are you staring at?” Morrigan’s voice opened in Liss’s head.
They stood on the banks of the Hishcanthe River. Morrigan’s shade army marched into its freezing depths disappearing beneath the surface. Minutes later the ghostly soldiers reappeared on the far side of the river and started climbing its bank onto the flood plain beyond.
“Our son, Vanth. He is so strong, magnificent. How did he come to be so… perfect?” Liss could not hide the wonder in his thoughts.
Morrigan smiled making a throaty sound in agreement. She nodded and watched proudly as Vanth, marshalled the army in the distance.
“Six days and we’ll be at the gates of the Imperial City, Arta. We’ll take it, then we’ll move onto the northern cities. Two months… resistance will be crushed. We’ll have the Erthe in our hands. We will rule the lands, the people will welcome us, our way will be the new way. All will be ours.” Morrigan’s voice was husky with confidence.
“I’ll savour this moment, this is the time of greatness. I will love you forever.” Liss said in his thoughts, looking at the horizon.
Morrigan turned to Liss reaching out to touch his face, his thoughts open to her. She looked into his eyes holding his gaze. “You have been good to me my boy. You’ve been loyal, played your part. It’s time.” Her hand went to his neck and gripped him, she placed her mouth on his throat and bit down hard. She sucked the life force out of him, Liss went limp, his eyes died. She released him, he fell, his body slid down the bank and into the river.
She did not look as he floated downstream, forgotten. Morrigan watched as her army continued to cross the Hishcanthe River.
“Soon sister, soon we’ll join forces in the north, then we’ll be unstoppable. We’ll eat, drink, breathe revenge, it will be good, it will be worth the pain. We’ll honour our family and remember. Have faith, know that I am coming.”
Morrigan descended the riverbank and reached its edge, she entered the water disappearing beneath the surface, leaving no trace, except for a few bubbles. Five minutes later she emerged from the river on the far side, she climbed up to join her son and his ghostly legions there.
Vanth the destroyer watched his mother. Morrigan noticed his form was more substantial, less transparent, she smiled, approving, this was part of the process. It was going as planned, she reached for him, he took her arm.
“When will I meet her?” Vanth asked.
“In time my son, patience. Ashtoreth will be pleased to welcome you, but first you have to prove yourself. You are her instrument, you will take the Imperial Cities; Arta, Kea and Dej. We will reduce them to rubble, erase any memory of their soft, corrupt ways, cleanse them from the land. We will take their people, use them to build a new beginning, we will build on the bones of the past. We will taste it and it will be good.”
Vanth nodded then shrugged. “It will be easy, the Imperials are soft, prisoners of their flesh and blood, our army is of shade, there will be no resistance, only surrender. You have my word, Mother. Ashtoreth will be pleased.”
Morrigan put her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Come, we’ve work to do, five days to our first victory, walk with me, this time will pass quickly, with you at my side.”
~
The Seeker’s eyes were on the north. She paced up and down in her room, lost in thought.
The Simulacrum were unpredictable, they had access to magic, crude but potent. They could be defeated in the right place at the right time. They would respond as they always did, without thinking. They were savages but dangerous savages. Their one weakness; their hatred of the Imperials, they would do anything to hurt their ancient enemy.
“Men are predictable, it’s a wonder they rose out of the dirt at all. They should’ve destroyed themselves long ago. I need eyes in the Imperial Cities… and eyes in Sirisio in the north.”
The Seeker paced round the marble floor, her skin changing colour as she thought. She needed information. Information was power.
“Arise my little ones, arise, be bright, be dark, be present, go forth and observe, take it all in and bring it back to me.” The Seeker brought her hands to her head and whispered her words, magic spilled from her mouth and seeped from her skin, the air shimmered and came alive with a swarm of fireflies. She threw her arms up and out collapsing to the floor, her skin tinged blue and red, her eyes closed, lids flickering. She would see it all when night fell, the fireflies would be her eyes all over the land.
Thousands of fireflies filled the room shedding their ghostly light like a host of miniature stars. They found the open window and spewed out into the world, the power of the Seeker’s words running along their wings.
The Imperials, the Simulacrum… anything could happen. There could be a new world order. The Sisterhood would survive… it always did.
The Seeker’s eyelids continued to flicker, the ghost of a smile haunted her face.
Change was opportunity.
~
The king lay in his bed, he had not slept well in recent weeks.
The sleeping draught was not strong enough, he was locked between wakefulness and dreams, unable to move; arms and legs leaden, his breathing laboured, a weight on his chest. He knew betrayal was near, time was growing short, he had suspicions but no proof.
He was waiting for the first sign, his spies were everywhere, in the Mage School, amongst his generals, in the court, with the priests. He had heard rumours. It had been easier in his father’s day, his father did not need proof, royal accusation was enough, but his father had gone too far with the pogroms. That had been his father’s mistake, he had lost the love and trust of the people.
Keep the people’s favour and you could do anything, fill their bellies with bread and ale, give them free days and games and you had them in your hand. Except for now, the harvest was poor, grain stores were low for winter… and there was the northern threat, always there, just beyond the great forest.
Sometimes it was hard to be king, all the worries of the state lay on him, an alternate crown of fear and spite. Men’s plots and shifting loyalties came to rest at his feet sooner or later.
Perhaps that had been his failing, he had not been cruel enough, harsh enough, not to the people but to the lords, his court. He would strike before they struck him, he would cleanse, like his father had done. He would unearth the traitors, flush them out. Cockroaches, all of them, he would crush them and stand on their broken skulls.
Cold sweat dripped from his face as he finally crossed over into sleep, the nightmare passed, he sunk into more peaceful waters. His breathing steadied, deepening.
A small flickering light danced across the room, the merest buzz of tiny wings, the firefly left the king’s chamber and flew out the window into the chill night.
~
The firefly flew into the Seeker’s open mouth.
She teased it with her tongue, it released its perfume, she inhaled and saw what it had learned of the king’s dream. He was weak, close to failing, he would either fall or be pushed. Timing was everything. She opened her eyes and mouth, the firefly flew out, vanishing into the shadows.
This would be a job for Syrah, her best assassin. She would send Syrah to kill the king, af
ter the lords’ council meeting. The king would be surrounded by his inner circle. A thin veil of civilisation was stretched over the bones of Imperial City, Dej. Scratch the surface and darkness lay everywhere, in men’s hearts and blood. She needed to prick the surface with the king’s death and the abscess would burst, the inevitable blood bath would ensue, the strong would rise, disorder would be followed by order. The king was holding up progress, an alliance was needed between the Simulacrum and the three Imperial cities, as long as the king lived it would not happen.
Minutes later Syrah’s footsteps approached.
“My service is yours, Seeker.” Syrah’s confident voice broke the silence. Guttered candles hissed in the corner of the room. Syrah could smell soot in the air… and something else.
Fear.
Fear’s fragrance was unmistakable. Why was there fear in this room? The Sisterhood had nothing, no one to fear, they were revered by all, they were protected by secrecy and strength. They were the oldest guild in the city.
The Seeker turned and approached Syrah. “Are you ready to receive your next mark?” the words spilled easily from her mouth, like so many times before.
“I am ready to receive this gift, I accept with an open heart and strong mind, my blades are yours to command.”
“Hold my arm, take the knowledge. You are to kill the king, tonight.”
Syrah did not flinch, outwardly, she was too experienced for that. She understood now why fear permeated the room. Thracken had told the truth, the life of a king was only taken if a greater threat became apparent. Ashtoreth and Morrigan were driving this decision for the Seeker, for the Sisterhood.
Syrah reached out taking the Seeker’s arm, she felt a crackle of energy along her skin and the familiar trickle of knowledge filling her veins. The king would be entertaining his close friends tonight, they would talk politics, play cards and drink wine. There would be courtesans, smoking, then sleep.
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