Naksu’s heart bled. She reached for Freydel, but instead felt herself rising away from him, unable to help. Ahead, the three peaks of Maphrax clawed for the Dark Rift above it and a terrible power flowed between them.
Her physical body pulled on her. The pull grew stronger and stronger and suddenly she was rushing through darkness and flickers of light. Solid earth formed beneath her, but the darkness and flickers of light remained. Howling wind lashed and tore at her. She pushed herself onto her knees, battling against the chaotic maelstrom trying to drag her in every direction.
A distorted voice wailed. ‘Naksu, reach for us!’
‘Iyena?’ Naksu shouted. ‘Where are you?’
She tried to gather her senses in the chaos. Uncontrollable magic flared and hissed. She spun around and around squinting against the flashing light, so bright in the black. There, far away, she glimpsed a still point of light. She ran towards it until she felt a dropping sensation, as if she had fallen off a ledge. The raging wind faded, and the flashing lights dimmed.
‘Is she awake?’ Dar’s voice came from far away.
‘Almost,’ replied Iyena.
The women spoke, their voices coming closer—or was she moving towards them? Naksu blinked open her eyes. Thank the goddess the magical vortex had gone. All was still, silent, and doused in a strange pale mist.
Iyena’s face came into view, her blue eyes clear and shining though deep creases lining her face.
‘They came,’ Naksu said, a sob catching in her throat.
‘We know, my dear. Nothing could have stopped them.’ There was calm resignation in Iyena’s voice although her eyes sparkled. ‘But you did it! You saved the Star Portal. You came just in time. The goddess truly is divine.’
Naksu frowned, not understanding. Iyena explained.
‘We could not hold them both, so we chose to save Sheyengetha and Averen whose body and soul is within. It took all three of us to do it. We could not have moved the Star Portal as well, but we didn’t need to in the end, because of you. Now both Sheyengetha and the Sacred Mound are safe, for a time.’
‘It worked?’ Naksu allowed herself to feel a small amount of joy. But the rest is gone. She didn’t speak her thoughts out loud, but instead she said, ‘Where are we now? I feel weak as a kitten.’ Suli helped her to sit up and she squinted at the strange, pale grey mist.
‘Beyond the world of Maioria, just. Within the veils between worlds, you could say, but we cannot remain here for long, our bodies can’t take the higher frequencies of these places. Come, help me get her up.’
The three older women helped Naksu stand. She found she could take her own weight but only with support from Suli. ‘Where can we go if Myrn is lost to us?’
Iyena held her staff before her. ‘It’s not over yet—not by a long shot. We must go now where we are needed most.’
30
Prophetic Dreams
‘What is it?’ Asaph asked from across the small campfire that lit up the cramped cave they huddled in.
Issa looked at him, noting his worried frown. Embarrassed, she wiped away the tears on her cheeks she had not felt fall.
‘Oh, uh, nothing.’
But it wasn’t nothing, there was a hole in her heart and she didn’t know how to heal it. Her sister was gone. In the bitter few moments she’d had with her, she’d memorised every feature, every bruise and cut, every mannerism born of a frightened child inhabiting a young woman’s pain-filled body.
She had gone from being an only child, to knowing she had a sister, to holding her bleeding, dying body in her arms in a matter of days. The soul just couldn’t cope with that. How had she been ripped from her mother’s womb by Lona? How had she made her grow so unnaturally fast? What despicable Yurgha technology had she used? Issa didn’t want to fathom.
‘I was thinking of my sister, she didn’t even have a name. I promised Father I’d save her, and all I could do was hold her dying body in my arms.’
Asaph shuffled round and held her tight. She couldn’t hold back the tears. He didn’t say anything, there were no words to speak.
After a time, the tears stopped but the sorrow remained. She could turn it to anger, it would help her fight, but her sister was forever gone.
‘We should try to sleep,’ Asaph said softly, stroking her hair.
Issa nodded and lay down. He tucked her cloak over her then lay beside her, huddling close for warmth.
Issa watched the fire cast dancing shadows on the walls. They had landed northwest of Draxa, on a craggy mountain range just as the sun had begun to rise. Being so overcast, they did not actually see the sun, just a slow brightening of dawn. Tonight they would venture as close to the city as they dared and search for Marakon’s fleet. She didn’t think she would sleep but an emotionally exhausted slumber consumed her. In it she had four vivid, prophetic dreams.
The white raven swooped along the tree-hugged path.
Issa ran after it. ‘Who are you? What do you want? Tell me!’ She refused to be afraid of this bird, despite the horribly ominous feeling clenching her stomach.
The trees and pathway suddenly became familiar—the ancient oaks and chestnuts, the rich green grass, a lushness about the place that remained even in winter.
Myrn!
When she turned the corner, the sea would be visible and the white domed houses of Oray would be nestling in the cove below.
Cold fear swept through her as she crested the hill. The raven landed high on the tree and cawed. Red clouds rolled in to cover the sky, moving too fast to be natural. Strong winds blew, heavy with the sickly-sweet scent of death. Lightning torched the sky, thunder peeled and the Under Flow rolled around her.
She rounded the corner and looked down, stopping with a gasp that sunk her to her knees. Not one pretty, white-domed house remained—all were blackened rubble and ruin. Vast sections of ancient lush forest were flattened and smoking.
Deep scars ripped up the earth around Oray, and amongst everything, like patches of cleanliness in a defiled world, were the pale blue robes of fallen seers. The scarred earth threw her mind back to Little Kammy and she thought her heart would break.
In the distance, a Dread Dragon screamed. Another, closer, answered it.
Issa clutched her temples and clenched her eyes shut. The white raven cawed, again and again.
Red triangular eyes burst into life, bringing light to the darkness of her dream. A light she feared and hated.
‘I’ll join Ayeth, the being who you once were,’ a strained, pain-filled voice rasped.
‘Freydel?’ Issa whispered, then drew back, not wanting to draw attention to herself.
She couldn’t see him – there was nothing but darkness and those eyes smouldering to a dangerous, midnight blue.
Power flared, roaring and tearing through her, trying to rip her apart. She screamed as Freydel screamed. The world turned into raging energy, lightning searing through every fibre of her being, ravaging all that she was.
The raging pain lessened, the magic calmed.
She was falling, she hit the ground hard, her breath exploding from her lungs. Over and over she rolled, her physical body battering and breaking then rolling some more.
‘Where is the light?’ Freydel’s soul called desperately. ‘I am nothing!’
All became still. There was no magic, no voices, no eyes. She was alone.
The world lightened into grey mist. Ahead, a point of white flared, drawing her. The light was the halo of an ancient tree. Sheyengetha, such beauty! Its rich green canopy was draped in gentle mist, and four seers stood before it, too far away to see who. The mist thickened and turned to fog, engulfing all and she lost them from view.
Everything turned to billowing grey.
A hoof stamped, distant but closer than the tree had been. A snort and then a patch of smoke appeared, marring the endless grey. A dark form as big as a horse took shape.
Issa turned and fled.
Trees jostled around her. Not healthy tr
ees with strong trunks and green leaves. These were withered and wilting, their drooping leaves mottled, their trunks flaccid and slumping. A strange gloom smothered the place and it was deathly silent.
A vague pathway wound ahead, and a black shape hung from a tree trunk. She walked forward in halting steps, and her stomach heaved. A young raven had been nailed to the tree and the rusty nail poked out of its chest.
‘Who would do this?’ Issa gasped. She turned away, hugging her chest.
Ahead, another dark shape hung from another wilting tree. Perforce, she had to go to it. It was another raven, an adult, dried blood on the nail sticking out of its chest. Dead and lifeless, eyes shut and its beak partially open. Issa lifted a trembling hand, then slowly let it back down. She couldn’t bring herself to touch the bird, not even to pull the evil nail free.
‘Who did this?’ she shouted and looked up at the heavy sky. Her voice echoed eerily. When the echoes died away, a deeper silence descended. She swallowed and moved along the path, forcing her feet to walk faster.
Ahead were more dark shapes nailed to trees, ravens all of them, stiff and lifeless. Issa thought she might vomit.
A strangled caw came from ahead.
‘Ehka?’ she called, or another raven in trouble?
If she was quick, she might be able to save it. She launched into a run, trying not to see the dead ravens, and the living raven cawed again, louder. The trees clustered closer around the trail, bending over it as if to ensnare her in the trailing limbs. Dead ravens were nailed to every one of them. Her breath came in gasps and her legs were weak, but she forced herself onwards.
The white raven swooped across her path and cawed. With a yelp, she pulled up.
‘I don’t want to follow you,’ she said, cold fear coiling around her.
A raven cawed from further away, its call familiar.
‘Ehka!’ Issa cried and ran.
She burst into a clearing. A screech escaped her throat as her eyes clamped upon the tall, grey-faced man. The loud, grating cawing of the white raven faded into the background and its frantic circling around her barely caught her attention.
All her senses focused upon the man before her, a man she longed to meet but on the tip of her sword, the one who had murdered Ely and destroyed Celene. Now he was here, all she could do was freeze, paralysed by fear. In one hand he gripped Ehka, the indigo sheen of his feathers unmistakable, in the other, he held a nail and hammer.
The bird struggled helplessly and screeched in pain as the man clenched his fist, crushing delicate feathers, then lifted the hammer.
Issa screamed and ran forwards, her hand reaching for her sword that wasn’t there. Her fear forgotten she cared only for Ehka’s life—but she was too far away. The man’s hand descended in slow motion, yet too fast for her to stop it.
Agony exploded in her own chest. Issa screamed and fell onto a ground that melted beneath her, and she sank into a world of darkness and pain. Before the light faded, she glimpsed the white raven perched on a tree above the grey-haired man, head cocked as it watched her fall.
There was no slow growing of light, no pinprick in the blackness towards which she could move, there was just … nothingness, and then a blue light appeared. With the light came sound, a growing roar of pure light and energy that overwhelmed every sense, a noise so immense it was hard to define.
Raw energy, raw essence, filled her, over-powering and cleansing all that was darkness and corruption, all that should not be there—disharmony melted under the power of harmony.
Issa gulped and gawped at the light-sound. It was the essence of everything; nothing could be apart from it. She could do nothing in its presence but succumb and become one with it—so she did.
All the terror of the previous dreams vanished in the light-sound. The worries and concerns of just moments before were gone, petty compared to this purity. A knowing came upon her.
The blue moon is rising again, I must be ready.
A sense of self returned, and with it, a diminishing of power. She sighed in relief but also sadness at the lessening light which turned from indigo to pale blue and finally, to white.
She sensed space before her, enormous space. Before her, a circle formed, not a circle, a planet! An indigo blue planet orbiting the vastness of space. Beyond it turned another, larger yet pale peach in shade and beyond that, yet another planet turned. Between them shone a moon.
Memory, old and deep, resurfaced.
‘The planets align, I have seen this. I remember,’ she whispered to the light.
31
The Keen Edge of Revenge
Asaph stepped onto the snow and ice-covered ledge high up on the western-most mountain of the Grey Lords.
From his vantage point, he surveyed the range of mountains cutting across the tooth-shaped continent of Drax. A sky, heavy with snow clouds, crushed down upon all. Howling wind tugged on his hair and whipped his cloak around his body as thick snow flurries whirled before him and snowflakes stung his face where they kissed. It was bitterly cold, biting even through his wool-lined gloves.
The weather, the mountain, the snow…they all mirrored his dark, determined mood. He clenched a frozen fist and pressed it against his chin.
Far away to the West, between the flurries of snow, he glimpsed the ancient city. Tall, majestic towers rose up between the peaks, ringed by walls and roads that hugged the mountain sides. A formidable, impenetrable city that should not have fallen. He clenched his fist tighter.
‘In all things, one must have a singular, powerful, driving objective,’ Coronos’ wise countenance echoed in his mind. If only his adopted father were beside him now, guiding him. His anger keened as he recalled Coronos speaking. ‘So, if all else fails, you can remain focused on that singular driving force. When it’s complete, you can walk away satisfied in your achievement. Reach for too many things, and you will surely fail. When clear intention, directed will, and pinpoint focus are enacted, all is made possible’
Coronos’ voice faded away leaving him with one clear objective.
‘I will kill Vornus.’ He spoke aloud, as if Coronos were right beside him. ‘I may not take Drax, that’s a mighty undertaking I dare to dream of, but I—one man—can surely end the life of another, a traitor, a murderer of thousands.’ With all his heart, he imagined Coronos leaning on his staff beside him, chiding him gently for his keen and bloodthirsty revenge.
‘Perhaps now you will agree with revenge, Father.’
He was so close now, he could barely contain himself. Even the Sword of Binding was impatient to be home, to taste the blood of the traitor.
Asaph lowered his arm and slowly relaxed his fist, allowing the blood to flow back into it. He let his fury go and turned his thoughts to planning—cold, calculated planning. Usually filled with fire and passion and the violence of the moment, Asaph forced himself to be like Coronos. Coronos would plan and refine, then plan some more.
Issa had already scryed for Marakon; his fleet was two days away from the shores of Draxa. All they had to do was remain undetected by Dread Dragon scouts for as long as possible. For all the horror of Issa’s nightmare about Myrn, if it was true it meant Baelthrom’s focus was not on Draxa—something in their favour, bitter as it was.
When the sky darkened and the snow fell heavier, Asaph realised just how long he had been standing here, facing west to where his heritage lay. Issa would be worried. He should return to her in the frozen gulley at the mountain’s base.
He stepped back from the ledge and resumed his dragon form, feeling the frigid cold bite even through his thick flesh. He would not wait for Marakon to set foot on the shores of Drax—he could not. The pull of home was immense and one he could not withstand. He would return to the castle—his castle—the same way he had left it over a quarter of a century ago, through the winding secret tunnels. He would infiltrate and break it from within, just as Vornus had broken them from within.
Kill Vornus, take Draxa. And if he could not take his
city back, he would destroy it utterly until nothing of it, or himself, or his enemy, remained. Just as Faelsun had done when he called the Eternal Wind and Fire, destroying himself and all things around him.
But Issa would insist on coming with him—and if it came to the end… He couldn’t bear to think about her, his mind was resolute. Suppressing a roar, Asaph spread his wings wide and leapt off the mountain.
‘I am going to Draxa now.’
Issa looked up at Asaph from the other side of the campfire. The seriousness in his eyes, the clenched fist at his side, the determined set of his jaw—this was a man not a boy standing before her; one set upon a deadly mission. She could say nothing to dissuade him, and she should not dare.
Fear feathered the hairs on the back of her neck. She was afraid of him in that moment and saw the power he could wield, the power of a Dragon Lord King! He was asking her to be brave, to be a warrior. Although he did not say she should stand at his side, he knew she would. It was either going to be victory or suicide, and nothing bridged the abyss between them.
‘I’ll not leave your side, and I will not die alone,’ was all she said, her own jaw clenching in determination.
His stance relaxed a little and a shadow of worry passed across his face. He gave the slightest nod of his head.
He needed some assurance to not worry about her. She said, ‘Besides, you need me with you. Should Cirosa be there…’ She let it trail off, not wanting to spread fear or doubt. Should Cirosa be there and have a hold on you, I’ll… She bit her lip, needing revenge.
But did he really mean to go this night? She opened her mouth to speak then shut it. It was obvious—of course they would leave now, this very moment as dusk fell and the air chilled to a deeper bitterness.
She let out a silent sigh. ‘I’m ready.’ She lifted herself from her crouch before the fire and left its welcome warmth.
War of the Raven Queen: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 6 Page 33